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"My very own delivery boy."
The sheriff's joke might have been accompanied by a smile of gratitude but his face quickly contorted into a habitual grimace upon inspecting the contents of the paper bag. Despite his intentional expression of disapproval, Stiles knew that his dad was truly happy that Stiles had taken up the routine of bringing him food anew. It was a treat that he could only immerse in once Stiles returned home from a mission, and even though the sheriff fussed about the healthy diet enforced by his own son, Stiles bringing him a home-cooked meal was still one of the highlights of the sheriff's day.
But even he couldn't pretend to not know the other, entirely transparent reason behind Stiles's regular visits.
Sure enough, a familiar male figure approached the enclosed office (as expected), and Stiles's dad had enough decency to turn his back on the scene to provide a false sense of privacy.
"Is there any chance that the delivery boy is single?" The newly entering man asked, door closing behind him.
Stiles whipped around in a flash and his tummy did that funny summersault thing that was simply a natural part of his reaction to all that was Derek. He strode over to his husband with a flirtatious grin, pushing another paper bag into Derek's deliciously firm chest and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"Planning to get into my pants, Deputy Hale?"
Derek took the bag with a subtle glance in the sheriff's direction, making sure the older man was still blissfully ignorant of the pair before skimming his lips softly against Stiles's ear shell.
"Maybe, if you can be good and keep quiet."
A shudder rippled through Stiles in an instant, who too moved closer to mouth against the skin behind Derek's ear: "Oh, I can be very good."
"No, just no. I draw the line here," The sheriff snapped as he twirled around with a reproachful look, "This is my territory and there won't be anything like that happening in here. Get out of my office."
"Sorry, dad." The amusement in his voice probably gave away how much Stiles didn't mean those words.
"I just want fifteen minutes of peace, okay? Will you let me eat my lunch in peace, son?" The sheriff asked while Stiles was already pushing Derek out of the door.
"No promises!" Stiles threw back over his shoulder, feeling Derek's chuckle against his hand.
"Please, just refrain from the holding cells this time!"
The door slammed shut much to the relief of all parties and Stiles followed Derek to his designated table as usual.
"You'll get me fired one day," Derek chided, but his lips tugged up into an unwitting smile all the same.
"My old man loves you, plus he wouldn't want to lose one of his best deputies."
"Oh, flattery, someone's desperate."
"Asshole." Stiles gave a light shove against Derek's shoulder before plopping himself onto the desk and making himself comfortable as his husband retrieved his containers from the bag.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" A woman's bubbly voice rang through the office, a basket covered with a soft cloth hanging from her arm as she made her way through the station. When she reached their table, she produced two decorated muffins from her basket which she presented first to Derek and then to Stiles. "Happy Valentine's Day!"
They took the offered muffins (Stiles's mouth already salivating at the sight of the delicious pastry) and Derek sent a small smile to his coworker: "Thank you, Diana."
"Hope you like it," Diana returned the smile before continuing on her way to distribute the muffins to the entire police force as it seemed.
The reminder of the upcoming holiday had reawakened the simmering buzz of excitement in Stiles and his thoughts immediately jumped to all the fun things he and his husband could do on the Day of Love.
"Dude, I can't wait to see what you planned for Valentine's Day," Stiles sighed dreamily as he started to free the muffin of its paper wrapping.
"You seem excited," Derek noted, putting his muffin to the side to start on his lunch, "Which is unusual since you're not a particular fan of this holiday."
"I mean, yeah," Stiles mumbled around a bite, feeling the sweetness of chocolate explode on his taste buds, "But it's your turn this year and you always go all out."
"Maybe I didn't plan anything big this time."
"Impossible," Stiles snorted, a piece of the muffin falling out of his mouth that he thankfully managed to catch in his hand and then stuff right back in.
Derek watched Stiles for a few seconds before taking the fork into his hand, head shaking slightly. "And you're surprised I never take you out to restaurants."
"Hey, whaz dat suppoz'd t'mwean?"
Stiles was engulfed in warmth and softness, his breath coming out evenly as his mind slowly awakened to the outside world. He noted with a tinge of surprise the alien sensation of being well-rested, his hand curling into the covers bracketing his frame while he continued to drift in and out of sleep. He ushered a silent thanks to whoever invented weekends because there was no way he would leave a den this comfortable for something as horrible as school.
He heard footsteps thudding down the staircase and wondered if his dad was going or coming from work. Either way, Stiles had already set his mind on sleeping in so even if there was a zombie apocalypse raging outside and the dead was trying to smash in his door, nothing could possibly get him out of bed in the near future.
Well, maybe the large hand pressed against his stomach could.
Panic was as good of a wake-up alarm as any, he figured, as his eyes flew open in a second, body feeling paralyzed. Stiles scanned his environment frantically and noted with increasing horror that this was, indeed, not his bedroom (no posters or superhero action figures anywhere, just dull walls and stacks of books). He soon realized that he was lying in an unfamiliar bedroom with a stranger's arm wrapped around him which was effectively trapping him between the person's hand and solid chest, and Stiles could only pray that his kidnapper wasn't awake yet. The clothes still on his body were of little consolation.
There was no way this was happening to him, but his rapid heartbeat was as real as the bulk body pressed against his back, and a quick count of his fingers confirmed his greatest fears. Okay, Stiles, calm down, you've been trained for this!
He commenced a breathing exercise his father had used whenever he was awoken by a nightmare and willed his impending panic attack to the back of his mind. What he needed right now was a feasible escape plan. There only seemed to be one other person in the house - although he might as well prepare for more - so with a bit of luck on his side, he could untangle himself from this stranger's hold and sneak out without notice.
He could totally pull it off.
He curled his hand into a fist as a contingency plan, deciding that if the person - a man, if the size and roughness of his hand was anything to go by - was awake then he would take his shot and punch the asshole in the face. He counted to three in his head before turning around with as little movement as possible, trying to get a good look at his kidnapper and maybe identify him for a future investigation (he was still hoping it was at least someone he knew, but that might have made everything worse).
His brain was unfortunately blank. He didn't recognize the man's sharp-like-glass jawline or fuzzy beard, nor did he recall ever seeing someone with such impressive eyebrows. And he would remember something like that.
Come to think of it, he had no memories of being attacked either, but that could be dealt with later. For now, he felt a wave of relief flood him as his kidnapper's eyes remained closed. So far so good.
Stiles began his slow and sporadic wiggle - like some bizarre worm dance - and gradually slipped further out of his kidnapper's embrace, nearly going into cardiac arrest when the man growled lowly in his sleep. The man was slowly coming around and Stiles didn't want to be there when the Big Bad Wolf realized that Little Red was getting away.
Stiles finally slipped free and tip-toed to the door, almost tasting freedom on his tongue when the man's eyes popped open in awareness, head rising from the bed and his eyes locking on Stiles. With no time to peer outside for possible accomplices - fuck it! he was better at flight than fight, anyway! - he ripped the door open and nearly tumbled down the stairs with how much force he slingshotted over the bannister. He wasn't even looking for a destination, much less caring about all the sounds he was making that might inform the other kidnapper in the house of his whereabouts. He reached the bottom with a jump, the rush of blood in his ears so loud he wished he hadn't spent the majority of lacrosse practice warming the bench. He made the mistake of looking back at the man now standing at the top of the stairs and repeatedly calling out his name - not like Stiles would listen to him in a million years.
"Morning, dad," A boy called from his side and Stiles flinched back violently, his back hitting a close-by shoe cabinet. "You okay?"
The boy seemed young - around Stiles's age - with similar pale-looking skin and a constellation of moles speckled on his face, which made Stiles sick in the stomach. Clearly, the kidnapper had a type. Stiles's mind was in too much of a frenzy to notice the lack of fear on the boy's part, he was freaking out enough for both of them.
Stiles swirled around then, registering the jiggling sound of keys after his impact with the furniture, and he felt like crying when he spotted a familiar chain in the slot atop the cabinet.
"Stiles, it's okay, you're safe," The man spoke gently as he descended the stairs step by step, his words in great contrast with the situation he had dragged Stiles into.
He wasn't going to be lured in by a hot man, even if he was sporting a six-pack above those tight black briefs. Stiles knew what Stockholm Syndrome was.
"Stay back!" Stiles shouted, keys grasped between his fingers as make-shift claws, kinda like Wolverine, and yeah, Stiles could absolutely channel his inner Wolverine!
When the smaller boy tried to take a step closer, Stiles opened the cabinet on instinct and started throwing the shoes towards the two men, both managing to dodge them right until one of the shoes hit the kid square in the eye.
"Ouch, fuck!"
"Stiles!" The kidnapper shouted, his eyes widening as he rushed to the boy's side.
With the improvised distraction, Stiles launched himself onto the door and somehow managed to unlock it on the second try. He didn't waste time by sparing a single glance back, he just ran like he never did during Coach's training and tried to stomp down the bile rising in his throat at the realization that he was surrounded by rows and rows of trees. Because, of course, his kidnappers would hide him in the woods!
He swiftly rounded his car (they parked it right outside, the losers!) and hopped in behind the steering wheel just as the kidnapper reached the bottom of the porch steps, no doubt trying to catch Stiles. He started the car with shaky hands, sending a prayer up to the Heavens that it would start on the first try and whooping in victory when it did.
What he did not plan for, though, was for his kidnapper to render his car completely immovable after placing a single hand on the hood of the jeep, his murderous eyebrows dissolving into one entity as he glared at Stiles through the windshield.
This was impossible, Stiles's brain screamed at himself. And yet, his car remained stationary.
Stiles felt like crying then.
"I will run you over, you fucking bitch, don't try me!"
The threat had no real punch to it, not when Stiles's voice wavered pathetically over the syllables, but Stiles still didn't anticipate the man's face to convulse with bewilderment and evident worry. Well, it was a somewhat natural reaction when faced with the possibility that a teenager could put you in jail, Stiles assumed. And he would do just that because Stiles wasn't about to become the subject of a missing person news report.
The kidnapper motioned the younger boy towards him who easily took the man's place in front of the car, allowing the kidnapper to approach the driver's side with sure and deliberate steps.
Oh my God. Well, fight it is then.
Stiles took a crumbled can of coke from the holder beside him and readied himself to hit the guy with it and run into the woods if need be. As soon as the door was pulled open, Stiles went in for the strike, his face turning ghost white when the man stopped his hand mid-air, a strong grip around Stiles's wrist making it impossible for him to move away.
"Stiles, what is going on?" The man... pleaded? He looked downright desperate, as if he was the one being kidnapped.
"Please, just let me go," Stiles begged, not even feeling mortified at the prospect of crying if it somehow saved his life.
To his shock, the man immediately withdrew his hand and took a step backwards, leaving Stiles so unprepared for his reaction that he forgot to run for his life.
"Stiles, where do you think you are?"
"I don't know, I swear," Stiles promised through a choked-off sob, "I won't be able to lead the cops here. Just please, let me go."
The man shared a look with the younger boy, his previous worry making space for something akin to fear in his eyes.
"Stiles, do you know who I am?"
Stiles shook his head, clinging onto the last thread of hope.
"No, I swear, I have no idea who you are."
There was a sharp intake of breath from the man before... "Oh, for the love of-"
"This is all..."
"A bit much?" His dad asked, giving a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.
Yeah, that was putting it mildly.
"How am I not dead?" Stiles asked the first question that came to mind.
His eyes found the sheriff at his side before travelling over to Derek (his husband, apparently, which is woah, he was way off with that one) and Eli (his son, which, like, how do you process that?).
"You've got a whole pack looking out for you, son," His dad reassured, although it was quite the challenge for Stiles to wrap his head around such an elusive term as "pack". The closest he could get to understanding it was comparing the dynamics to a family, and even that was a bit of a stretch. It certainly didn't explain the weird tug in his chest or the faint buzz in his mind whenever he was shown a photo of his packmates.
"Plus Derek would turn a miserable hermit without you," The sheriff added teasingly.
Derek opened his mouth as if to deny the accusation but seemed to think better of it and just gave a "fair enough" nod in resignation.
"Okay, so... how do we fix this?"
When in doubt, always follow your nose, right? Solutions would come first and maybe he could postpone the freak-out for a more appropriate time, Stiles decided. ('Cause holy shit, he had facial hair now!)
"Well... you say that you don't feel sore anywhere and Derek assured me that you didn't hit your head yesterday and seemed completely fine before going to bed." The sheriff recounted what they had already discussed previously, the exasperated look on his face giving away just how much he had never gotten used to the supernatural.
"Okay, so?"
"It's probably a curse," Derek clarified, his arms (that could easily toss Stiles around, wow) folded in front of his chest and his tired expression was reminiscent of the sheriff. Stiles idly wondered just how many supernatural shenanigans they had had to deal with to get those wrinkles around their eyes. Probably a lot from what Stiles had heard.
"Curse, awesome, how do we break it?" Stiles clapped, looking expectantly at the two men sharing a silent look.
"Usually, magic is your forte," The sheriff said, and yeah, Stiles had gathered that much from the whole emissary thing.
Surprisingly, it was Eli who stepped forward with the answer: "You've broken curses before and you said that it requires either the witch breaking their own spell or true love's kiss."
Stiles couldn't help it, he burst into a fit of laughter.
"True love's kiss? Really?" Stiles grinned as he tried to catch his breath, "Shouldn't I be asleep then? Waiting for my prince to rescue me via a kiss I did not consent to?"
When he was levelled with three equally disapproving looks, Stiles bit his lip self-consciously.
"So, um... I guess you'd be the one giving me the, uh, kiss," Stiles waved his hand lamely towards Derek, getting an unimpressed salute from the murder eyebrows. Seriously, those brows should be hired at America's Got Talent as a stand-in for Simon Cowell.
"If you're not gonna bolt," Derek taunted, obviously still salty about Stiles's earlier reaction, which just wasn't fair. Stiles hit his own son in the head with a shoe and Eli forgave him in under a minute!
"I have amnesia, you're legally required to be nice to me," Stiles patted the empty space on the couch next to him, "Now, get your wolfy ass here or I'll find someone else to make out with."
The threat was a joke but Derek let out a small growl nonetheless. The werewolf took a seat beside him and didn't even deign to give Stiles time to prepare before Derek was pulling him forward by his face and connecting their mouths in a close-mouthed kiss.
Stiles shut his eyes, concentrating on the strange feeling of having a man's chapped lips mushed against his own and awaiting the burst of memories of his happy and domestic life with said man that... didn't come.
Stiles's shoulders sagged in vexation which made Derek pull away immediately. From the look of hurt and disappointment on the other's face, Derek could probably see the lack of recognition in his eyes, and Stiles made a face of apology as he had no clue about how to proceed with this unexpected turn of events.
"Any other ideas?"
"You know what we should do? Ask around the locals. That usually works in Supernatural. Do you know what else works in Supernatural? Scheming over food. I say we should learn from the professionals and find a diner so that we can plot our next move over two plates of meaty burgers. And fries. Definitely some fries."
If people could be killed through telepathy, Stiles would have spontaneously combusted by now from how intensely Derek was glaring at him.
"Can you stop asking for food every ten seconds?"
"Well, hypothetically, I possess such abilities, but the whole ADHD thing makes it kinda hard for me to not spew my thoughts all over you, and, I mean, I'm sure you're already acquainted with everything that comes with the whole Sexy Stilinski Package-"
"Fine, we're getting food!" Derek declared, then added much quieter: "Maybe that will shut you up."
"Hey, I think we deserve a break, don't ya? We've already visited all the witches in town and you said none of them was lying when they said they had no idea about someone planning to cast a curse," Stiles pointed out as they got into Derek's car.
He was only slightly put off by not being able to drive, and the only reason Stiles allowed it was Derek's sensible reasoning of the SUV being faster (and safer) to use than the jeep Stiles had originally voted for. It wasn't like Derek had seen him stick his tongue out at Derek's suburban mom car, even if that was exactly what happened.
"So it's a witch we don't know," Derek came to the brilliant conclusion which Stiles rewarded with a roll of his eyes.
"Sherlock strikes again," Stiles mumbled, pointedly ignoring Derek's death glare beside him, "Good luck finding that one."
As they rolled onto the road, the pre-added playlist on the car's radio took over the speakers, and Stiles had to lean closer to make sure his eyes weren't fooling him.
"Dude, you listen to Taylor Swift?" Stiles asked, already flipping over the songs with piqued curiosity.
"Sometimes."
Derek's flat tone of voice gave nothing away, and Stiles was really starting to grow agitated with not being able to tell whether Derek was serious or joking (dude's sense of humour seriously left a lot to be desired). Judging from the slight upturn of Derek's lips, the asshole knew what Stiles was thinking and was getting great enjoyment from Stiles's lack of ability to read him.
"Whatever, just take me home," Stiles sighed defeatedly, "Or well, our house, which is home, I guess. Wait, do I still have my old room at home or did Dad rearrange it? Cause if he got rid of my Arctic Monkeys poster, I swear to Chuck-"
Derek pressed his lips together as if fighting a smile but shook his head in negation, "We still have one more place to go."
Stiles groaned and trashed around in his seat because he was dedicated to making his own hungriness Derek's problem as well. Derek's lips did the twitchy thing again and Stiles almost asked about it but he was too busy staring outside at the exurban area with progressively fewer people out on the streets.
"Okay, this is starting to seem like kidnapping, dude."
Derek huffed but kept silent even as they finally rolled into a mostly empty parking lot... right outside a '60s-themed diner.
"Yes, baby, that's what I'm talking about!"
Stiles did a little victory air punch, almost falling out of the car in his hurry, while Derek only watched on in amusement and managed to exit the car without any danger of sending himself to ER. Whatever, he should be glad that Stiles was a constant source of entertainment in his gloomy humourless life.
Stiles was the first through the door and he let his mouth hang open for a minute to just take in all the decor, the red plastic chairs, the black-and-white checkered floor and the old jukebox from which the Beach Boys were spreading good vibrations to all costumers present. A waitress with curly black hair and a huge (yet genuine-looking) smile on her face greeted them as soon as they passed through the entrance.
"Lovelies, back again so soon?" The woman asked before winking at them, "I'm just kidding. You know Mama loves to have you here. We all do."
Stiles was still heavily enthralled by the environment but he didn't miss the gentle pressure on his lower back as Derek guided him towards a far-end table, and he couldn't say he minded the contact.
"Your usual table, lovelies. I'll be back with your fries pronto." The girl gave them another wink, and then she was off to retrieve what Stiles hoped was an extra large portion of their best French fries.
"Dude, we frequent this place? I didn't even know something like this existed in Beacon Hills!"
Derek looked entirely self-satisfied as he took a menu in hand - a very lame attempt to hide his smirk - and said without looking up: "Wait until you see the shakes they have."
Obviously, Stiles scrambled to open another menu himself, his eyes scanning over the myriad of options and feeling every bit torn over all the delicious-looking choices.
"Dude, I need a Banana Bomb!"
Derek raised a single eyebrow at Stiles, apparently not deeming his statement worthy of raising two of those fuzzy caterpillars, "You don't even like banana."
The werewolf had this aura around him that gave off the impression that Derek was convinced he knew Stiles in and out, which was just naturally a challenge for Stiles to want to defy him.
"Well, apparently, I do." Stiles cut back, smiling deviously when Derek's cheeks reddened ever so slightly.
"You're gonna regret it," Derek warned with his eyes cast down and Stiles was pretty sure he was winning here.
He should have known better.
Stiles hated that shake, but he probably hated Derek's knowing smirk even more so as he reluctantly switched glasses with Derek's Cookie Boogie Bliss. His anger somewhat dissipated when the bubbly waitress appeared with two paper bags stacked with fries, and Stiles wasted no time pouncing on them unashamedly and dipping them into his chocolate shake before bringing them to his mouth and moaning his approval. Did he mention he loved fries?
"What?"
Derek was staring at him. Fondly. It was more alarming than his usual scowl since Stiles had kind of gotten used to that by now, but this? Nobody looked at Stiles like that. Ever. If Derek was trying to be intimidating, he was definitely on the right track.
"You always do that," Derek mused, chin propped in his hand.
"Do what?"
"Eat like you're giving a blowjob."
Stiles sputtered, cheeks flaming as he wiped at his mouth with a napkin. Derek was still sporting that stupid fond look on his face (and how can he make such a comment so nonchalantly?!) but there was underlying amusement now in the way his eyes brightened. Stiles had a hunch that he had been played by the werewolf, and he was 97% sure it was his own influence on Derek. Figures.
"You think you know me, huh?"
"After eleven years together, I'd like to think so."
"Okay, then who's my favourite superhero?" Stiles asked with his arms folded over his chest to appear more serious. Maybe Derek had been rubbing off on him, too.
"Batman." Came the easy answer, Derek's eyebrows conveying "Is this all you've got?".
But it was far from over. Stiles drummed his fingers on his arms while listing off ideas in his mind on what to quiz Derek, feeling a surge of smugness when Derek's gaze followed the movement absent-mindedly.
"DC or Marvel?"
"Both."
"My favourite sports team?"
"Mets."
"Summer or winter?"
"Neither, you love the fall."
"My favourite colour?"
Instead of answering, Derek's eyes flashed blue for a second, and suddenly Stiles was very curious about what being a werewolf entailed. And what did that mean relationship-wise? Maybe it would be smarter to return to that thought later, possibly when Derek couldn't guess his thoughts by a single whiff.
"Are you seriously surprised?" Derek asked after a good minute of Stiles openly staring at him, "It's the jeep's colour. Not that hard to guess."
Stiles's eyes narrowed at him because, surely, Derek couldn't be that dumb.
"I don't think it's the jeep," Stiles confessed, watching with rapt interest as Derek's eyes slowly widened in understanding, and he wondered if he had never mentioned this to the other man. What was even more puzzling, though, was how Derek didn't smirk at him or picked on him for the feelings he supposedly had for the werewolf. If anything, Derek looked vulnerable as his indescribable eyes filled with awe and admiration, something that made Stiles's chest tighten reflexively.
"If I could get a pet, what would it be?"
Derek's face regained some of its guardedness once again, and now that Stiles knew the other was hiding a part of himself, he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment for making Derek scoot back behind his neutral front.
"You really liked having a boa, but if you could get any pet, you'd have a Ukrainian Ironbelly," Derek answered with the faintest hint of a smile. There was a new impulse unfurling in him that Stiles could recognize - one that was driving him to figure out what Derek looked like when he was genuinely smiling. It was an uncanny feeling, yet not alien at all.
"Most embarrassing story?"
"You tell everyone it's that moment when Harris was supervising you in detention for the first time and at the end, he told you to "stay out of trouble, kid" and you automatically replied with "sure, daddy"."
Even as Derek recounted the story, Stiles felt his whole body squeeze up in mortification.
"But actually, your most embarrassing memory is from that time in seventh grade when you slept over at Scott's and you got morning wood so you quickly fled to the bathroom and rubbed it out but didn't notice that Melissa was still in the sho-"
"Stop, stop!" Stiles demanded, shaking his head to push the memory down into his subconsciousness where it belonged.
"And then your dad gave you the talk with visual illustration and that's why you hate cucumbers-"
"OKAY!" Stiles plastered his hand over Derek's mouth as if silencing Derek's words could erase the existence of that mental picture.
Melissa had been sworn to secrecy and the sheriff was smarter than to ever bring up such a traumatic experience so Stiles couldn't phantom where Derek had heard the one story even Scott didn't know about. The logical conclusion for the source would be Stiles, but then he would have to question his own sanity, which he would like to think was still pretty intact, thank you very much. Seriously, when did he think it was a good idea to share that memory with Derek?
"Damn, you're good," Stiles grumbled as he removed his hand. He was still a bit shaken but definitely impressed with Derek's knowledge about him.
"Yeah, you tell me that often. Just usually when we're alone."
Derek had no right to have that smouldering look on his face. He also had no right to make Stiles's heart beat twice as fast with just the thought of what they had likely done in the solitude of their room in the past and how Derek had seen all of him while his own husband was still a mystery to Stiles. That realization had Stiles's shoulders deflating in a second.
Derek knew him. They'd been together for eleven years, so of course, he did. He loved Stiles, too. Or so Stiles hoped.
And here Stiles was, not remembering a thing about the supposed love of his life. Even if that concept was still mind-boggling, the fact that Stiles had once achieved happiness and eternal love and was confiscated of it so easily was making his blood boil in a strangely new way.
He didn't know Derek. But for the first time, he wished he did.
"Are you gonna eat that?" Stiles motioned for the cookie that came with the milkshake Derek had ordered, desperate to smother his sorrow in food.
Derek pushed the plate closer to Stiles wordlessly, although he seemed to regret his leniency when Stiles decided to stuff the whole thing into his mouth all at once. So what? Stiles had a big mouth and Derek should be appreciative of it. Derek must have known, too, that Stiles was nothing if not a tease. So really, his eyes shouldn't have been that huge when Stiles let out a prolonged moan (even if Stiles was secretly hoping for such a reaction).
"What?" Stiles asked, his mouth still half full. In his defence, he felt no need to impress Derek - knowing you were already married to someone did that to you - and that feeling was liberating.
Without a word or another glance, Derek dug his phone out of his pocket and shot off a few texts before even deigning to look back at Stiles.
"I think I know who our witch is."
"This is so weird, Coach patted me on the shoulder."
Derek laughed and there went the Oompa Loompas doing summersaults in Stiles's tummy again. This had been happening ever since they had left the restaurant and Stiles honestly didn't know what to make of it.
"Well, you were one of his favourite students," Derek remarked as they took their seats on the bleachers. "Especially after you scored those three winning points for the team."
"Yeah, I thought dad was just making that one up."
They waited until a noteworthy crowd had gathered around them, Stiles's leg bouncing both in excitement and in compulsion against having to sit in one place. The match hadn't started yet, but Stiles contemplated the peculiar experience of watching the game from the audience instead of from the sidelines.
The coldness of the evening successfully managed to escape his consciousness right until a shiver crawled down his spine unexpectedly, and Stiles instinctively curled his arms around himself in a weak attempt to preserve more body heat. He wasn't prepared for something heavy to land on him - alas the flinch-yelp combo he performed right in front of Derek - and his fingers twisted curiously into the leather of the jacket now draped over his shoulders. He could feel the warmth web from his upper body down to his toes, and Stiles convinced himself it was only due to the extra layer.
"Thanks," Stiles mumbled, squinting his eyes at the single henley Derek was sporting, "But what is your plan, genius? Freezing to death?"
Derek's eyes crinkled at the side as he gave Stiles a once-over, nudging his shoulder playfully against Stiles's and nearly sending the human toppling down the rows of seats. "I don't get cold as easily as others."
"What-" Stiles started before realization dawned on him. Of course, freaking werewolf.
Derek smiled at him - surprisingly soft - and tentatively took Stiles's hands into his. Derek's touch was warm where it enveloped Stiles's numb fingers, and strangely, Stiles didn't feel like pulling away.
"See?"
Despite initiating contact, Derek appeared to be the embodiment of nervousness. He peered up at Stiles like he was scared of crossing some boundaries as if Stiles wasn't one of the most tactile people out there. To remedy the situation, Stiles turned his palm up and intertwined their fingers together, feeling like he had just scored three winning points by the adorable blush blossoming on Derek's cheeks.
"Yeah, you're right."
You know those moments in cliché rom-com movies where the two protagonists share an intimate look for the first time and you think they are about to kiss? Yeah, Stiles felt like those were always a bit out of left field, but damn if he wasn't experiencing it right now. Derek's lips looked soft if a bit chapped from the cold, and his beard just gave the impression that it would feel glorious against Stiles's cheek. Obviously, in good rom-com fashion, the moment was rudely interrupted by the uproar of the crowd around them, and Stiles tried to stamp down the wave of disappointment as the team finally jogged out onto the field. He watched Derek holler along with other parents before following the man's line of vision and spotting Eli's fluffy bush of hair among all the players. Eli waved in their direction, nearly falling over his feet while doing so, and Stiles couldn't help but smile at the kid's clumsiness. His happiness quickly turned sour, though, when Eli turned around to take his position on the field, and Stiles's eyebrows furrowed at what he saw.
He couldn't believe this.
"THEY GAVE HIM SCOTT'S NUMBER?!"
His outburst earned a few disapproving glances from the other parents but Stiles couldn't care any less about them. He was allowed to be enraged, okay?!
Coach's favourite player, his ass.
Stiles meant to fume in silence, really, except that he was never really good at keeping his indignant opinions to himself, and technically, he was allowed to act a bit childish with his teenager-amnesiac mind.
"This has to be on purpose," Stiles seethed as he wiped at his mouth angrily, "Is this Coach's way to get back at me for the prank I did on his birthday, because that is totally a tradition at this point, and he can't expect me to miss out on an opportunity like that, but come to think of it, how did he figure out it was me? No, he couldn't know that, I hid my tracks better than that. OH, okay, was it because I backtalked to him in class? Just because I do that, like, all the time when I'm confronted with stupidity and he has to understand that, the guy calls us the evidence that Neanderthals existed for crying out loud! This dude and his grudges, unbelievable! You know, maybe Scott has been able to pay more attention to his classes but who else could have given a fascinating and educational presentation on male pregnancy among seahorses and its connection to fanfiction mpreg trope, huh? I'm telling you, I was his brightest student and he didn't know what to do with me, the weirdo. And you know what else? Wha- why are you smiling?"
No, Derek wasn't smiling. He was beaming, with cute little bunny teeth and all, and Stiles was a weak man, okay? And also, hello to those laughing lines Stiles hadn't met before but was sure could cure cancer on sight. And Stiles hadn't even started on the adoration in Derek's eyes, which was frankly astounding and a lot overwhelming. In a pleasant way, of course.
"You said the same the first time you saw Eli's jersey," Derek explained as his eyes went unfocused for a moment, probably recalling the apparently fond memory he had of Stiles's unruly word vomit.
"Ah, sorry," Stiles apologized reflexively, "I know it's fucking annoying, believe me, I have to live with this non-stop. Sometimes my brain just goes on a tangent, and oops, I wasted five hours of my life. But feel free to stop me anytime."
"No, I like your rants." Derek's answer was immediate and so genuine that Stiles felt his heart stumble over itself in shock, "You're cute when you do them."
Was it possible to get a heart attack just from sitting next to someone? Stiles really didn't want to be that loser who ends up on the news with the report title "Awkward quasi-teenage boy gets sent to hospital due to the inability to handle someone being nice to him". Derek also seemed to notice his rapid heartbeat 'cause why else would he be glancing at Stiles's chest? Oh God, now Stiles was also a furiously blushing mess!
Stiles had never been more grateful for hearing a game-commencing whistle in his life.
Twenty minutes into the game and Stiles had somehow managed to not have a total freak-out every time Derek squeezed his hand (because they were still holding hands!) or when their thighs brushed together for a few fleeting moments. Stiles turned his attention onto the field (for his own sanity) and winced when Eli got immediately tackled as soon as he touched the ball. After that, Stiles got seriously invested in the game, cheering loudly for Eli when he managed to dodge an attack and enthusiastically fist-bumping the air when Eli managed to catch his teammate's pass.
"Just watch," Derek's low voice suddenly washed over Stiles, the man's warm breath fanning against his goosebump-covered skin, "This is the move we've been practised."
Stiles willed his mind not to linger on Derek's proximity and instead watched raptly as Eli side-flipped over a player and jumped high in the air, twirling around and throwing the ball to one of his open teammates who now had the perfect chance to advance as all defenders were focused on Eli. The crowd seemed to rise as one as the ball hit the net, uproarious celebration making it almost hard for Stiles to hear the announcement that Beacon Hills High had won.
Stiles let Derek lead him down to the field where Eli was hugging his teammates, and took a moment to just smile to himself at the sight of their still intertwined fingers.
He had a feeling that he would follow this man anywhere.
Stiles hugged his pillow closer and grunted in discomfort. He had been tossing and turning for nearly two hours now and was slowly running out of ideas. Browsing the internet didn't help, and after attempting to read a book, watch ASMR videos and recount the plot of all Star Wars movies in his head, he was sullenly back to square one. Hypothetically, he could go downstairs and try to induce some kind of a food coma, but he worried his clumsiness (which was twice as bad in the dark) would wake Derek up, and the poor guy needed all of the (admittedly, not much) sleep he could get while being banished to the couch. Stiles wasn't so cruel to sentence his own husband to a night of spine-wrecking sleep, but Derek had been adamant about prioritizing Stiles's comfort which involved not pushing him to share intimacy with somehow he didn't know that well.
Derek had also been considerate enough to grab his old pillow from the sheriff's house after Stiles had outright refused to spend the night in his old bedroom. The last thing Eli needed was a speech about "We're not divorcing, we're just taking a break" from his parents, which wasn't even true, to begin with. Stiles wasn't sure how long it would take for his dad and Deaton to track down the witch, but he wasn't going to strain his family's life even more so by walking out on them. The same way he was still wearing his ring, if only for Derek's sake.
And here his stubborn ass was, staring up at the ceiling with a frown and cursing his stupid pillow for not helping to untangle his messy thoughts at all.
Did Derek manage to fall asleep? It must have been horrible on the couch, and if he didn't get a good night's sleep, it would be all Stiles's fault. Maybe guilt was the perpetrator behind his insomnia.
Coming to a final decision, Stiles grabbed his pillow and tiptoed down the stairs in his pyjamas where he peeked around the corner and into the dim-lit living room. He saw Derek's figure on the couch, his back pressed to the back of the furniture and body lying still under one of their weighted blankets. Stiles approached the sleeping man quietly, accidentally stubbing his toe on the coffee table and screaming soundlessly into his palm as he instantly regretted his decision to leave the bedroom.
Stiles eventually kneeled down beside Derek's head, his hand hovering unsurely over Derek's shoulder when faced with the man's relaxed features. Derek looked beautiful on a regular day, but he was absolutely breath-taking now (even in the shade of night) with his tousled hair falling into his eyes, mouth slightly parted and breaths coming slow and soft in the peacefulness of sleep. Stiles drew his hand back, biting his lip and squinting his eyes before deciding: fuck it, he wanted to sleep, too!
With a bit of difficulty, he managed to wiggle under Derek's blanket, effectively squishing his husband between Stiles's back and the furniture, but Derek didn't push him off on instinct so that was a good sign. Stiles's eyes closed as he concentrated on the feeling of Derek's body pushed up against his own, their legs touching and Derek's breaths softly ruffling his hair, a new feeling settling inside Stiles's exhausted bones that had him drifting in seconds.
Safety.
The last thing Stiles's brain registered was the feeling of Derek's arm sneaking around his waist to cross across his chest and finally settle on Stiles's opposite shoulder, pulling them even closer to each other as Derek mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep.
A content smile stretched over Stiles's lips and he was out in seconds. He proceeded to sleep dreamlessly for hours.
Nothing screamed domesticity more than sleeping in on a Saturday morning and only being woken up by the smell of waffles floating out of the kitchen. Although, Stiles might have to reconsider. Derek made quite the sight waltzing around the room in an apron and low-hanging sweatpants, which was nothing short of the happy married life that Stiles would have imagined for himself. Derek managed to top it all off with a bouquet of his favourite flowers placed in the centre of the dining table, a generous amount of heart-shaped waffles covered in syrup loaded on two plates and a slice of pie added to one of the servings that Stiles immediately recognized.
"Is that from Patty's Pastries?" Stiles gaped, his words attracting Derek's attention who whipped around with the kind of dazzling smile that belonged to princes in fairytale stories, and definitely not to domesticated werewolves with serial killer eyebrows.
Life just wasn't fair sometimes.
"Your favourite kind, too," Derek replied as he ushered Stiles to take a seat, pulling his chair out and everything. Stiles was wooed, to say the least.
"But it's like, a two-hour drive from here," Stiles reasoned, eyes wide as he took in all the preparations Derek had gone through, "My family would buy a slice on the way to the sea whenever we went vacationing."
"I know," Derek said, practically vibrating through his skin despite trying to appear casual, "And I had some help collecting some of my surprises for you today."
"Today?"
Derek simply pointed to the calendar behind him. Oh.
Valentine's Day.
"Oh fuck, I didn't- I don't know if I bought you anything or... shit!"
Derek touched his cheek gently and all anger evaporated from Stiles in an instant. "Stiles, it's fine. We agreed that this year I'd be the one pampering you. But I understand if it's too much. We don't have to go through with it. I just... I had this plan..."
"Hey," Stiles took Derek's hand into his, rubbing his fingers comfortingly over Derek's knuckles, "It's okay. I mean, who would say no to having the shit romanced out of them?"
Derek ducked his head in response, which Stiles could now identify as his way of hiding a smile. It was endearing.
"So... you really cut the waffles into heart shapes?"
"I don't do romantic gestures much," Derek shrugged as he took a seat opposite Stiles, "I'm planning to go all out today."
They ate together wordlessly - Stiles ate the waffles first, then the pie, because you gotta leave the best for last - and Stiles found that he felt no pressure to fill in the silence. Knowing that you're already married to someone does make things easier as it turns out. Stiles had never felt more at ease with just existing, and Derek seemed to like existing beside him, too. Married life - Stiles was kinda digging it.
The serenity of the morning was interrupted by Eli barging into the kitchen and sniffing the air appreciatively.
"Waffles? Fuck yeah! I love Valentine's Day!"
"Language," Stiles said without thinking. When his brain finally caught up to what he had said, his forehead creased in confusion, and Derek's grinning face told him that at least his husband found it amusing that Stiles was apparently turning into his old man.
"Can I take the jeep tonight?" Eli asked as he plopped down beside Stiles with an impressive waffle tower on his plate, complete with strawberries and spreads of Nutella.
"Sure," Derek assented before Stiles could even open his mouth. It was full of pie, not like that would stop Stiles from talking.
"Why?" Stiles chewed through his disapproval. (Roscoe was his baby, okay? That car belonged to him!)
"I got a... date.. for tonight?"
Derek's fork stopped mi-air to his mouth. "Eli, that's amazing!"
"You go, kid," Stiles raised his hand for a fistbump, because, okay, yeah, he could totally forgive Eli for borrowing his car if it was for a good cause. The best of causes, really.
"Just be back by midnight," Derek added as Eli stuffed a whole waffle into his mouth. Yapp, definitely Stiles's kid.
"As if you two wouldn't enjoy a night alone," Eli rolled his eyes before scrunching his nose up. "Never saying that again."
Eli finished his plate in record time and put it in the sink before grabbing his bag from beside the door.
"Going over to Astrid's," Eli announced, combing his birdnest hair out of his face.
"Just get out of here, you heathen," Derek joked, getting a wide grin from Eli.
"Don't wait for me!"
"Drive safe!" Derek shouted back before rolling his eyes, fondness evident on his face.
Stiles watched the unfolding scene with an involuntary smile, not even realizing the thought that crossed his mind: I could get used to this.
"So..." Stiles started, one eyebrow raised quizically, "What's the plan for today?"
The first part of the plan was apparently going to the arcade, and that alone filled Stiles to the brim with uncontained excitement. Derek didn't go easy on him, though, Stiles's amnesia and lack of heightened senses going completely ignored as soon as they reached the basketball hoop where Derek's competitive side decisively took over. Stiles and Scott used to visit this place religiously so Stiles wasn't that far behind in results, but Derek had years of experience behind his back from when he was honing his skills to impress Stiles at the beginning of their relationship, or so he was told by Lydia (who was one of his best friends now? Yeah, Stiles was starting to think it was all just a fever dream.)
They proceeded to have lunch with the sheriff where Stiles spent a good portion of the time side-eyeing his father's plate of pie - the sole evidence of who was Derek's accomplice in setting up today's surprises. Stiles didn't have it in him to complain, however, as he had never seen his father be so joyful and relaxed on Valentine's Day ever since that chair at their dining table became vacant. Instead of drowning his sorrows in whiskey, the sheriff was retelling stories about Claudia with a big (albeit sad) smile on his face and Derek laughed or nodded along to them as appropriate. Derek also unveiled some of his own stories about Mr and Mrs Hale and how he had always hoped to find an all-conquering love like the one his parents shared. Derek grabbed his hand under the table while saying that, and Stiles's heart might have skyrocketed into space.
"Now?" Stiles asked as they exited the sheriff's house.
"Animal shelter."
It turned out that having friends at the animal shelter came with certain benefits, such as being allowed to help distribute food to the cats - the main participant being Stiles, who spent at least ten minutes as a treat laughing at Derek's pouty face when the kittens kept hissing at him - and taking the dogs on a walk which inevitably resulted in Stiles getting attached to a dozen of them before saying their goodbyes to Mrs Evans.
Stiles shouldn't be faulted for pestering Derek about adopting a puppy all the way home, especially since Derek was responsible for bringing Stiles to the shelter in the first place.
"Always wanted a dog," Stiles sighed, eyes skimming down Derek's body with a forebodingly goofy grin, "Although..."
"If you make a dog joke now, I'll push you out of the moving car."
Stiles was never one to be intimidated by threats, nor was he known to be able to tell when to back off. It had earned him quite a few bruises as a kid, and he seemed to be on the right track to earn a few fresh ones.
"I bruise easily," Stiles reminded, "What if I break my spine? What if I get into a coma? Could you really live with yourself knowing you killed your own husband, the father of your child, for being gifted with an ingenious sense of humour?"
"The FBI taught you how to survive a fall."
"Dude, did you hit your head, too? I have amnesia."
"Muscle memory," Derek shrugged nonchalantly, "And you didn't hit your head. It was a witch."
"Yeah, wouldn't have remembered that, thanks."
"You have amnesia, right?" Derek smirked in response, which was a bad move because, as a husband, he should have known that being taunted only brings out the vengeful gremlin in Stiles.
It was truly fascinating to watch Derek's eyebrows perform their own routine of Olimpic acrobatics, and the only incentive they needed was a few deliberate pokes from Stiles. Derek was disadvantaged with only one available hand to bat Stiles's finger away, while Stiles himself had two perfectly free hands to poke and squish at his husband's face until more and more creases began to appear on Derek's forehead. Stiles bet Derek would look sexy even with a wrinkled face, marred with the battles of a long life, lounging in a recliner and reading an old book in his comfy grandpa sweaters.
Lost in his reverie, Stiles could barely save his hand from Derek's (thankfully) human teeth as the man play-bit towards his battering fingers, smiling in self-satisfaction as Stiles held his own hand close to his chest.
They arrived home an hour before dinner time, and they took (sadly) separate showers to get rid of all the fur clinging to their skin and clothes. There was a part where Derek shamelessly rolled around on their bed - Stiles wished he could have gotten it on camera - and it took a few minutes for Stiles to realize that it was probably Derek's way of soaking himself in their combined scent before putting on his own daywear.
Stiles had questions - an ever-increasing list of inquires - but Derek stomped them with a vague comment about needing to check something, and was out the door before Stiles could even formulate his request about getting marked, too.
The pout on Stiles's face was understandably justified. He was supposed to get spoiled, not ditched halfway through their date, and it didn't matter that Derek had promised to return to him soon. Bored Stiles was a force better not to awaken, and the only reason they were able to avoid it this time around was Eli stumbling through the front door not five minutes later, clutching a lacrosse stick close to his chest.
Eli merely muttered a "sure" to Stiles's question of whether he wanted to practice in the backyard, and the late afternoon hours soon found them tossing the ball back and forth between each other, both pretending they sucked less than the other.
"Sorry, dude, I think you inherited the clumsiness from me," Stiles felt the need to apologize after watching Eli face-plant on the ground for the third time in a row. Not like he didn't have a bruise in the making from falling onto his back a minute ago. Eli was at least always back on his feet a few seconds later, energy and motivation intact, along with his image of an over-eager puppy.
"'s fine, some people find it adorable." Eli shrugged, tossing his hair out of his face.
Didn't they own any clippers? Stiles would swear that even his buzzcut looked better. It was definitely more practical.
"Like who?" Stiles asked off-handedly.
He had no doubt about Eli's ability to charm someone with his puppy looks and chiselled jawline (the Hale genes did good on that boy) but Stiles had experience with clumsiness. People's reactions usually varied between annoyance and mild amusement with the occasional worry thrown in the mix, but Stiles was yet to find someone who considered this particular trait attractive.
"Like dad?" Eli asked, barely missing adding a "duh" at the end, "He always complains that you're gonna die by braining yourself on our furniture but every time he says it he looks like he's just been gifted the continuation of his favourite book series."
Stiles managed to duck away from the approaching ball, hearing it hit the ground with a soft thud.
"Is..."
Stiles struggled to find the right words for his question but Eli only raised a single eyebrow silently as if encouraging him to continue.
"Are we, me and your dad, I mean," Stiles waved his hand around in the air, motioning towards the house, "Are we happy?"
Eli's eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressing together in a straight line as he seemed to consider the question. Stiles was only getting slightly anxious at the drawn-out wait. Only slightly.
When Eli opened his mouth to answer, Stiles was rendered speechless by the honesty in his words.
"I don't think I've ever since two people being happier and more in love than you guys."
Eli tossed the stick up and down in his hands, his eyes firmly focused on the lacrosse gear as Stiles continued to stare at him.
"I know most of my teammates have divorced parents. Some of them actually enjoy that their parents are trying to outdo each other with gifts on Christmas and stuff. A few of my friends complain about not being able to study because the shouting is just too loud at home."
When Eli raised his head, Stiles almost felt it hard to keep eye contact. He had stolen that blissful family life from Eli.
"I don't know, I could never relate to them. My classmate was once bullied by a bunch of jocks but their parents didn't give a shit that their son was getting picked on. Dad was the one who taught him how to punch someone in the face and told him that he'd always be welcome at our house. That's how I became friends with Aaron."
Although Stiles had no recollection of these events, he was sure that Derek would do something like this to make a young kid feel just a tad bit safer in the world.
"You and dad..." Eli continued with an affectionate huff, "You love each other endlessly. You love me, too, I know that because you guys always make sure that I feel loved and listened to. I kinda wish you would let me stay out longer but I know that you guys are just worried about me. I've heard the stories, you know. About Scott. The pack. How you and dad fell in love. It sounded epic."
Stiles felt himself smile at that, even if his heart clenched painfully in his chest.
"You once said that you'd always come back to Dad, no matter what, and that nothing could keep you two apart. Because you'll always fight for each other and for our family." Eli shrugged again, a small smile on his lips as he tossed his mophead hair out of his eyes, "I don't know. I guess that's why I didn't freak out when we realized you got cursed. I mean, you and Dad always found your way back to each other."
Stiles didn't know how to react, wasn't sure if he could process any of that and not feel awful over all the things he had lost. But after hearing Eli speak so confidently about them being able to overcome this issue, Stiles suddenly felt something click into place.
He crossed the distance between them and hugged his son close to his chest, not even minding almost suffocating himself in Eli's hair when the boy clung to him stronger.
"You're a good kid," Stiles said, patting Eli on the back when his son grinned up at him.
Then they heard the sound of a car approaching and Eli's grin widened even more so.
"I think that one's for you."
Eli dismissed Stiles's confusion in favour of literally pushing his dad back into the house (lacrosse gear discarded on the ground) and towards the front entrance, motioning for Stiles to open the door as the bell went off for the second time.
If they were in a cartoon, Stiles's jaw would have made a loud thumping sound as it hit the floor in the face of one Derek Hale, dressed in a black blazer and a tight (oh god, Stiles could probably count his packs from here) navy blue shirt, with his hair styled back perfectly to accentuate his handsome features and a smile that Stiles was inclined to compare to the beauty of a sunrise. The Lord was really giving Stiles his toughest battles.
"Your carriage is ready, Sir," Derek stepped to the side to reveal the sleek Camaro parked in their driveway and Stiles might have forgotten how to breathe.
"I think you broke him," Eli said as he leaned over Stiles's shoulder, hitting his father in the back and forcing Stiles to take a large gulp of air.
Now back on the Earth of the living, Stiles pushed Eli's face away before turning back to Derek and swallowing a few times for good measure.
"One moment," Stiles put a finger up for Derek to wait before closing the door in his face and whispering a marvelled "oh my god" against the wooden surface. He was really doing this. He was going on a date with a Greek god.
Eli made a huge show of rolling his eyes behind him so Stiles made a face at his son in retaliation. When Stiles finally opened the door again, it was to reveal Derek in the middle of fighting a smile and failing epically.
"Give me ten minutes," Stiles said, ignoring Derek's smug look, "I need to change into something that won't make people think that I'm a homeless college student trying to get free food out of the sexy local millionaire."
"That doesn't make sense," Derek argued (it was probably an impulse for him at this point) and Stiles simply shrugged.
"Sexy local millionaires aren't allowed to backtalk."
Behind his back, Stiles could hear Eli's fake gagging sounds.
"Don't you have a date to get to?" Stiles questioned with his best "strict parent" tone.
"Don't you have a date to get to?"
Stiles swore to himself that Eli wouldn't sound so delighted once Stiles grounded his ass for laughing at the way his dad fumbled upstairs, trying to take the steps three at a time.
"Ten minutes!"
Stiles was only slightly surprised to return to the diner from the previous day, but he was positively shocked by the utter emptiness of the restaurant. With all the tables moved to the side, the lack of patrons was even more striking, and it didn't take a genius to put the puzzle pieces together. In the middle of the room, there was a lone table with two plates of hamburgers and an extra large basket of fries served on either side of one central candle, the romantic atmosphere completed by the dim pink-hued lighting and two glasses of wine being poured by the beaming waitress from yesterday. She gave Stiles a wink before retreating to the back, leaving the man gaping at the meticulously arranged scene.
"Aren't they losing money?"
Yeah, Stiles had this skill of saying the most assholish things in the face of kindness. Or well, romance, too, apparently.
"I covered their nightly revenue," Derek explained as he pulled out the chair for Stiles and guided his awe-struck husband down into his seat.
Stiles didn't know how he could have chosen this well.
"Sexy local millionaire," Stiles nodded to himself numbly, making Derek laugh as he too took a seat at the table.
Stiles was now sure it was all just a dream. He was probably lying in Beacon Hills Memorial in a coma with Scott and his dad weeping over his unconscious body because there was no way something this perfect was allowed to exist. But it did, and it was sitting right in front of Stiles. His hands felt pretty real, too, as they rested over Stiles's paler ones.
Stiles felt like he was under some kind of hypnosis as he watched Derek rise from his seat after having finished their meal and walk over to the old jukebox. There was a quip about being a romantic cliché on the tip of his tongue when the first notes of I can't help falling in love with you started playing from the stereos, but goddamit, Stiles wanted to be a romantic cliché!
He didn't even hesitate when Derek offered his hand up to him, simply sprang to his feet and hooked his arms around Derek's neck in one swift motion. He almost made the two of them fall over with his momentum, but it was worth it to hear Derek laugh so freely again.
Stiles just wished he could trap forever in those 3 minutes.
Eventually, Derek had to tap him on the shoulder, and Stiles's eyes fluttered open with difficulty. His head rose from his husband's shoulder where it had ended up somewhere between Derek sliding his hand to his lower back and him nuzzling his cheek against Derek's salt-and-pepper beard. From up close, Derek's eyes seemed an even more nuanced whirlwind of colours.
"Come on, I wanna show you something."
Stiles wasn't sure what else Derek could still have up in his sleeve but he wasn't about to question it. There was a reason for the permanent warmth in his chest now, and as Derek drove them to the edge of the preserve, Stiles wondered if he could have muscle fever from smiling too much. Even when Derek made them trudge through the forest on foot, Stiles's enthusiasm never subdued, but in fact, it was all just food for his curiosity.
"Are we on the right path?" Stiles had to ask, however, after spending twenty minutes journeying between the trees without getting as much as a word from Derek.
"Yeah," Derek exhaled softly, squatting down to take a small smooth-faced stone into his hand which was carefully hidden under the protruding root of a tree. The letters "S D" had been clearly clawed into its surface.
"Did we really do that?" Stiles asked with suspicion lacing his voice.
Derek put the rock back into its place, rolling his eyes as he took Stiles's hand back into his.
"Well, I did it, after refusing to claw it into a tree."
Derek gave Stiles a judgmental look and Stiles only grinned back in response.
Much to Stiles's relief, they could discern the edge of a clearing ahead of them and Derek led him forward by their interlaced fingers until the pair was standing on top of a small cliff. A pond stretched below them, with the reflection of stairs sparkling on the water's surface like golden speckles in a pool of black sand. The scenery wasn't the one that caught Stiles's attention, though. It was the treehouse built among the branches of a large tree towering near the edge of the cliff, the wooden swing attached to it swaying lightly in the night's breeze.
"My father built it," Derek said in a quiet voice, "My family would sometimes come here on full moons and my siblings and I would jump off the swing and into the lake while my parents gave us points based on height, execution and the loudness of the splash."
There was a glint in Derek's eyes as the moonlight got caught in the tears welling up in them, and Stiles squeezed his hand tighter just to see Derek's lips stretch into a smile again.
"I can do a backflip," Derek added as he pulled Stiles towards the treehouse.
"Of course, you can," Stiles shot back as he began to make his way up into the wooden house.
The inside of the structure was surprisingly cosy after Derek had produced two thick blankets from the large storage chest stashed in the corner. There were drawings up on the walls and a bunch of board games and plushies stuffed into the chest that hadn't been touched for a while now. Despite no evidence of frequent use, the treehouse appeared to be in good shape compared to how old it must have been. As Stiles kneeled down near the window, he noticed the swirling letters of writing marked into the floorboard: What I'll remember is our time together.
"I've been here before."
Derek sat down beside him, his eyes tracking the words with fondness.
"We used to come here with Eli. After I spent a whole summer fixing it up," Derek sighed as he looked around. "Now he's too old for it."
"I like it," Stiles confessed, watching the Moon disappear behind a veil of clouds and reemerge again with her light cascading down onto their small patch of paradise. There was a tingling sensation running along Stiles's skin as his eyes filled with the bewitching artwork of nature, and for the first time, he felt a connection with the land around him. It wasn't a new feeling in any way, more like a cordial embrace of being welcomed home.
"Sorry for ruining this day," Stiles whispered nigh inaudibly, but Derek heard him regardless.
"You didn't."
"I did."
Derek shifted closer to him, his eyes glistening mischievously as he sought out Stiles's own, "You don't remember this, but we've already been on this date before."
Stiles blinked at Derek, noting the sincerity in his revelation. "What."
Derek smiled at that, head hanging low. "Our first date. You organized the whole thing to be perfect."
"Really?"
"Yeah, we went to see La La Land," Derek shook his head with the tiniest smile, "You picked me up in your jeep and it broke down halfway to the movies. We had to get it towed and then walk the rest of the way to the theatre. We missed half of the movie."
"Oh," Stiles winced, but Derek's smile didn't falter.
"You bought popcorn for us but our seats were in the middle of the row and, while trying to get in beside me, you tripped in the aisle and the whole popcorn bowl crashed down on me. My clothes had a lingering smell of popcorn for weeks."
Stiles watched the light dance in Derek's eyes, and suddenly, he couldn't look away.
"And then?"
"We ate at the diner and you laughed so hard at one point that you accidentally spit a mouthful of fries at me."
"Oh my god, tell me that's the end of it."
"No," Derek shook his head with a grin, "We decided to take a walk through the preserve because it was closer to my place and you spent the first half ranting about the movie. That's when the skies opened. We were drenched pretty soon but I told you I knew a place. I wasn't even sure if this treehouse was still up. But it was here and we climbed inside, soaked and shivering and laughing harder than I ever did in my whole life."
Stiles's breath hitched as he exhaled quietly: "You liked it?"
"I was enchanted," Derek said, his eyes shifting to the ground nervously, "That was the first time I kissed you."
Stiles's heart was already hammering in his chest so loud he was scared the sound would drown out Derek's words, but even if those words hadn't been spoken, the slight blush on Derek's face would have been enough to make Stiles's heart skip a beat.
His mind, on the other hand, was quiet and filled with only one single thought: I want to remember you.
"We shouldn't," Stiles licked his lips self-consciously, body running hot as Derek's eyes followed the movement, "We shouldn't break tradition."
Neither of them registered the ebbing distance between them, only focused on the tides of their laboured breathing until Stiles's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. His eyelids closed on instinct as he felt Derek's breath coming short against his lips, a faint promise of touch teasing at Stiles's slightly parted mouth. His breath quivered as a reaction to the weight of Derek's hand settling on the back of his neck - an anchor to keep them connected to the moment lest Stiles's mind floated away (and how cruel would it be to wake up right now?). Stiles pushed forward on a desperate tug of his heart, a needy moan muffled against Derek's own as they clashed like waves and Stiles had to grip Derek's shirt between his fingers to make sure they didn't get dragged away from each other ever again. There was a symphony composed of Derek's whimpering groans and Stiles's own needy whines as he finally parted Derek's lips with his tongue, delving into the hotness of the other man's mouth and claiming everything Derek was ready to give to him.
His taste, his touch, his heart, his love.
Love.
Stiles loved him. He had loved him ever since that summer when the alpha pack came to Beacon Hills and the two of them were forced by dire circumstances to form an unlikely alliance that turned into much more than any of them had anticipated. Those feelings simmered deep inside him until a spark was lit with Derek's death in Mexico, giving life to an irrevocable force that never seized to look for Derek in every part and every moment of his life.
Stiles never stopped looking. Never stopped loving.
He broke the kiss with a gasp, too inundated with emotion to contain his euphoric laughter. Derek watched him still with that heart-melting smile on his face - the one Stiles had promised to put on his face for the rest of their lives - and Stiles could hardly hold himself back from kissing the man silly.
"What?" Derek's hand was resting comfortably on the side of Stiles's neck while one finger traced the familiar pattern of moles there. It was a subconscious habit of his, and Stiles just had to lean in and capture Derek's inviting lips once again.
"You forgot to mention that during our first date, you snorted so hard at one of my jokes that milkshake came out of your nose."
Derek's eyes widened only for a second, and then he was pressing their foreheads together and giving Stiles all the kisses that they were previously confiscated of.
"You remember." Derek exhaled in pure ecstasy and Stiles couldn't help but kiss the smile on his husband's lips.
"Yeah, I remember how you let my dad eat that pie when you know how high his cholesterol levels are."
Kiss.
"I know. Still love me?"
Kiss.
"Always," Stiles whispered, hands coming up to gently cradle Derek's cheeks.
At that moment, Stiles knew that this Valentine's Day would be the most memorable one for a long time, and had to stifle an internal groan over how insufferable Derek was going to be as a result.
"Wait," Derek pulled away with a shit-eating grin that Stiles wanted to kiss right off his face, "Did I really manage to make you fall back in love with me in a single day?"
"Two days," Stiles corrected because he was also insufferable.
"Sorry, that's indeed a long time."
"Alright, Sassywolf, but we both know that you fell in love with me the moment you saw me."
"We've already established that I don't have a good taste in people."
"Oh, shut up."
"Make me."
Stiles was all too happy to comply.
"And have you seen her face when my dad threatened to shoot her in the womb?"
Stiles had been cackling over the events for the past two days and Derek knew for a fact that he would hear an echo of this story on their upcoming anniversary.
"That bitch Diana will think twice before coming back here," Stiles mumbled, his legs swinging off Derek's desk and almost kicking over the trash can that Derek was quick to place out of his husband's reach.
"It was fortunate that we managed to locate her," Derek nodded as he gave a side glance at the stack of paperwork he had been procrastinating on.
"You mean that I managed to locate her."
"Semantics," Derek crossed his arms under his husband's irritated glare, "Too bad we can't charge her with any real crime."
"I think she got her lesson," Stiles said with a smile, probably still seeing the events played out inside his mind like a 3D movie, "And a memory spell, really? As if you would ever give up on our relationship just because I can't remember you."
Derek scoffed in agreement over the sheer absurdity of such an assumption. This woman was clearly not there when Derek had gotten de-aged. Come to think of it, they had enough amnesia spells for a lifetime.
"Next year, you're organizing what we do for Valentine's Day," Derek reminded Stiles, cocking one eyebrow in challenge, "Although I doubt you could top this."
"Oh, I'll top you, alright," Stiles shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes before hopping right off of Derek's desk. The station was quiet today with the main room completely desolate, save for the two of them. "So... do you wanna go and make out in the holding cells?"
"I'm on the clock," Derek frowned at his husband, "Lead the way."
Stiles took his hand into his, and as they raced down towards the cells in the empty station, Derek mentally snorted to himself.
As if a little amnesia ever stood a chance.