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Derek doesn't come back for a few nights.
It's an odd feeling, not having him around the house. It's not like he ever had a set schedule, anyway, and Stiles would never rely on it, even if there was one, but Stiles is subject to more than one quiet night without his dad in the house when Derek just... never shows up.
He's not upset. He's just not.
It's not like he relies on Derek for anything, and Derek's got an entire pack to think about and to train, especially with Jackson running around like an idiot and killing anything he comes across. Of course Derek isn't going to have time for anything personal, and Stiles isn't bothered. Hell, he doesn't even notice it. He has plenty of schoolwork to do.
It's the middle of January, and he has to admit that he hates everything about this month. It's after Christmas, so there's really nothing for the cold to build up to, and it's just horrid weather with no reward in sight for his perseverance. Then there's the gross mugginess of spring, and finally summer rolls around, but even that's dry and hot as all hell.
Stiles hates to admit it, but he's just been sitting around acting very pessimistic lately, and though his dad doesn't mention anything about it, he's definitely noticed. No, he's not moping, but he's definitely not in a good mood, either. And with Scott spending almost all of his time with Allison, Stiles is just...
He's stuck in a rut, if he can call it that. He suddenly has pattern to his life, and he doesn't like that. Pattern bothers him.
Stiles doesn't take out as many movies anymore. He means to, and he stills takes out maybe one or two a week, but DVDs just don't pile up in his house at the volume that they used to. There's practically an empty space on the coffee table where a stack of DVDs should be sitting (there's a square of dust around it and everything) and now all he has is one or two boxes on top of the television.
And one night, Stiles' dad is set to be out much longer than normal. Sure, he's had to take overtime in the past, but he's never had to spend all night at the station like he has to now. It apparently has to do with the murders, or the kanima, or the werewolves or the Argents or something, everything's starting to bleed together, but Stiles doesn't waste too much time on listening to the reason.
All he knows is that tonight would be a good night to get in a movie or two, and then sleep on the couch. It's a pretty solid plan, and he grabs a bag of Doritos from the kitchen and sits himself down for a long night of The Nightmare Before Christmas and Drillbit Taylor.
He slips the movie in and sits back, and tries to ignore the window, wide open in his peripheral vision.
--
It has to be midnight or later when he finally wakes up again, and the main menu for the DVD player is displayed on his television, bright and blue and harsh on his eyes. He blinks blearily and shivers a bit at the draft coming in from the window.
He hears a crack from next to him and nearly jumps out of his skin. What he does, though, is fall on the floor out of surprise, knocking the remote and the case for The Nightmare Before Christmas onto the floor with him. He bangs his head pretty bad on the hardwood, but when he's finally able to open his eyes and squint through the artificial lighting in the living room, he spots Derek calmly putting the disk back in its case like he's the only one in the room.
Stiles sits up from his perch on the floor and eyes Derek warily. "I'm starting to think you actually like my DVD player more than you like me." he says, and Derek shrugs, sliding the case gently onto the coffee table.
"It is a really nice DVD player."
He would argue, but a joking Derek is better than a serious Derek, because a serious Derek normally entails somebody being dead or seriously injured or, in the worst case scenario, about to die. Stiles brings his hand up to rub at the back of his head and Derek meets his eyes, frowning.
"Are you alright?" he asks, and Stiles is a bit thrown by the question for a moment or two. He's able to pull himself up, only to collapse back onto the couch, and he suddenly feels out of place -- normally Derek's on the right side of the couch and he's on the left, but now that they're switched, it feels... weird.
Stiles furrows his brow. "Yeah, I'm good." he replies simply, and he just really doesn't like being on the right side of the couch. He looks at Derek. "How's the pack?"
There's on thing that Stiles is relieved about, though, and that's the way Derek's entire body kind of relaxes as he sighs, even if it's tired and exasperated and aggravated beyond all measure. His entire body seems to sink further into the couch, and it makes Stiles a little less antsy. "They're better than they were, at least." Derek says gruffly. "But they could definitely use more practice."
Stiles shrugs. "I've said all I can say on that, I think." he tells Derek, matter-of-fact, and Derek crosses his legs -- surprisingly casual, even for him. "Have the Argents been staying away, at least?"
"For the most part." Derek tells him. The way he says it is almost bitten off and mumbled, like it's the last thing he wants to be talking about, and Stiles can sympathize. He turns himself so he's leaning against the arm of the sofa, and he folds his legs, looking at Derek openly.
"Somebody's not in a happy mood."
"I was about to say the same about you."
Stiles grins, then, and he just really can't help himself. There's a sense of normalcy returning to him that he's missed a bit, and it's not like anything that has to do with Derek is ever normal. He tries to squash the feeling down, but it's difficult, with how prominent it is.
Derek hitches an eyebrow at him. "Did I say something funny?"
He can't help it, and he rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn't disappear. "You're not the most hilarious guy, Derek." he tells him, and with the way Derek smirks a bit, he figures it was the right way to go. Derek crosses his arms and looks at the television, and he almost looks like he's bored.
"Now," he starts slowly, "I'm disappointed that you don't have some pile of movies to pick from this time around. I was kind of looking forward to that, after a while."
Stiles scoffs, but there's something hanging in the air, and Stiles knows it, and he wants to grab at it before it disappears. Derek actually enjoys hanging out, or at least he enjoys it more than he enjoys other things. That, and he was actually looking forward to this -- maybe more the movie than Stiles, but... it's still a nice sentiment.
He can't help but shrug. "Sorry. You snooze, you lose." He kicks Derek's hip lightly, and the werewolf turns his head to look at him, questioning, and Stiles asks the question he's been meaning to ask. "Where have you been, anyway? Just curious, I guess."
It takes Derek a moment or two of thinking to actually answer the question, and Stiles briefly worries that he's building up some sort of complex lie to throw in Stiles' face. He wouldn't be surprised, of course, and it wouldn't be like he could tell anyway, but something tells him Derek's telling the truth when he speaks.
"I went up to Seattle." he says finally, and Stiles sits forward.
He blinks in mild surprise. "Really? What did you need in Washington?" he asks, and it's a simple enough question, but Derek suddenly seems like he's mulling his entire existence over. Stiles isn't sure if it was the question or the answer that has the man so perplexed, but either way, he's on a path to finding out.
And then, surprisingly, Derek just shrugs, like a sort of simplicity flies off of him all of a sudden and he comes to terms with it. "I wanted to see if that carnival was still up there."
It takes Stiles a second to figure out what he's talking about. What carnival? When did Derek ever mention a carnival? But then it clicks and Stiles is suddenly a lot more interested. "Is it still there?" he asks quietly.
"It was, actually." Derek tells him nonchalantly, and he stares at the blue screen on the television as if he can actually recount the memory there. "It was a town attraction, or something like that. It was built to amp up tourism. And it was raining when I drove past."
The first thing that comes out of Stiles' mouth is, "It must have been nice." And he's struck by how honest it sounds, so he quickly clears his throat and follows it up with, "While you were having tons of fun in Seattle, though, I figured out that thunder makes me nervous again. Which is just as great as it sounds."
It's an odd non-sequitur, he knows, and he's expecting something like a half-baked retort or a bored admonishment from Derek, who's still staring at the television like he's looking for something. There's a faint smile on his face when he speaks.
"It's just loud rain."
And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't surprised.
There's something hanging in the air that Stiles knows is just waiting to wrap around them, and he can't help but think that this still isn't right. So he clears his throat and Derek looks at him openly.
"Can we switch seats?" he asks lamely, and his grin is sheepish. "This is starting to freak me out."
It takes a second or two of confused staring from Derek, and Stiles figures that it was probably a really weird follow-up, but Derek concedes that the switched positions actually are kind of weird and he slides over into his seat. Stiles tries to jump around him as he moves to get to the left side of the sofa, but he finds his hip caught suddenly and he loses his balance.
His knee buckles, and he ends up putting his leg out to try and balance himself out, and he ends up suspending himself on the sofa by his knee, grabbing Derek's shoulder out of instinct rather than anything else. When he actually gets a chance to look at where he is, though, he rears back a bit. Not as accidental as he thought.
He's got his knees on either side of Derek's hips and a hand on his shoulder, and when he tries to open his mouth to say something, the werewolf leans up preemptively and, suddenly, they're kissing. That seems to happen a lot to Stiles lately -- not a gradual kiss, or a planned kiss, but a sudden kiss.
As much as he knows he should, he doesn't complain.
Part of him says that he should be objecting, because the guy tripped him into straddling him, and that's weird in a thousand different ways, but Derek's got his hands on Stiles' hips, and he'd be lying to himself if he didn't like it a little bit. So, no, he doesn't push Derek away immediately, and his head is still swimming, frankly, so he might push back, might mount his other hand on Derek's other shoulder, but it's not like anyone has to know.
But he pulls away after a moment or two and is struck by the situation. He swallows thickly. "Uh," he starts dumbly, and his eyes dart from Derek's questioning gaze to his hands to his chest and back again, "I'm in a dude's lap, it's kind of new for me."
Derek rolls his eyes, and Stiles isn't surprised that he can still manage to be arrogant, even now. "I don't hear you complaining," he replies, slightly hissing through his teeth, and Stiles knows he has a point. But even from his elevated position, Derek's still got a manner of control over the situation, and frowns.
"Yeah, whatever." he replies quickly, and he actually kisses Derek this time around, takes action on his own. The werewolf grunts in the back of his throat, but he leans back into the sofa and his hands snake up Stiles' sides, drag over his skin, and Stiles loops his arms around Derek's neck.
He's surprised that something hasn't interrupted them yet, like it normally does. He's surprised that there's no sound of a car in the driveway or a screeching cat from outside, and his dad isn't supposed to be back all night, so he pulls off of Derek, nearly tripping over the coffee table in the process.
Derek seems confused, but Stiles points upward, indicating towards the upper floor. "I'm not gonna spend the entire night making out with you on the sofa. Either we move or you get out of my house."
The werewolf blinks. "Somebody's bossy all of a sudden."
Stiles lifts his eyebrows, daring Derek to say anything to the contrary, because he knows that Derek's just as eager for this as he is, so he's not surprised when Derek stands up from the sofa and grabs Stiles' hips, hauling him forward for one last kiss before pulling away and leaving Stiles to follow him upstairs.
And Derek's grin is... well.
It's wolfish.