#hoechlbutt

The entire day he had felt like complete shit. His head felt ten times bigger than usual complete with an incessantly throbbing headache that hurt so bad his whole face ached, sinus pressure squeezing down on his brain. His nose was behaving erratically, one moment insufferably runny and the next unbearably stuffy, its mercurial nature shifting so often that he eventually just gave up and started carrying a box of tissues around wherever he went in the loft, even if it was just to the bathroom.

When the curious, unexplained symptoms had not abated within a few hours, he had given Stiles a call, figuring it was best to consult one of the only two humans in the pack when dealing with an acutely human condition. Besides, Stiles was the master of research, another point in his favor when Derek was trying to decide who to call, winning out over everyone else in the two seconds it took for the alpha to pick up his phone and dial Stiles’ number from memory.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Derek wanted to hear Stiles’ voice. Nothing at all.

Barely two seconds after Derek had listed off all of his symptoms, Stiles had diagnosed him with the common cold, humming thoughtfully as he told Derek to get comfy on the couch and wait for him, volunteering to come over with some stuff. After thanking Stiles and hanging up, Derek took a seat on the couch in the main room of the loft, trying to watch some television to occupy himself until Stiles got there, but midway through a rerun of Dr. Phil his headache got much worse, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything, lying down and curling up a bit with his face buried in a couch cushion.

That was how Stiles found him when he let himself into the loft fifteen minutes later laden with heavy bags bearing the local pharmacy’s logo, a large aluminum thermos, and his bookbag, closing the heavy steel door with a wince when it slammed shut loudly. Derek whined at the sound, his head pulsating painfully as the metallic thud echoed throughout the loft, nuzzling his face deeper into the couch cushion as Stiles murmured an apology and tiptoed over to the coffee table where he set his bags down.

Laying a gentle hand on Derek’s shoulder, Stiles had very quietly asked if he could roll over onto his back, the usually stoic alpha letting out a petulant groan as he reluctantly turned over. He glared up blearily at Stiles with a childish pout on his lips, tempted to let out a growl despite his current human status, his sore throat the only thing that truly deterred him.

“How you feeling, big guy?” Stiles had asked softly, resting the back of his hand on Derek’s forehead, trying to see if he was warm or not, greeting Derek with a soft smile as he took a seat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Like shit,” Derek managed to croak out, his voice rough and gravelly as he spoke, a whine bleeding into it as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t really see the point in mincing words, not when he was aching all over and half wishing for the sweet embrace of death, always a little less inhibited around Stiles anyhow.

“Yeah, well, that’s what being human feels like,” Stiles quipped, twisting to fish around in one of the bags from the pharmacy, rooting around until he grabbed a hold of something, tugging his hand out to brandish a bottle of blue Gatorade and a bottle of over the counter cold medicine. He popped the lid off the bottle of medicine, plucking a couple of pills out before closing the bottle, setting the pills aside as he twisted open the bottle of Gatorade. Standing back up, he leaned over Derek and inquired, “Think you can sit up a bit?”

Derek had begrudgingly complied, gratefully sipping the sports drink Stiles lifted up to his mouth, the Gatorade moistening his chapped lips and soothing the raw feeling in his throat as Stiles supported his head with a gentle hand on the back of his neck. After drinking a good portion of the Gatorade, he obediently swallowed the pills Stiles pressed to his bottom lip, only half listening as Stiles explained the importance of staying hydrated and taking the right medication, absently running his fingers through Derek’s slightly sweaty hair.

The medicine seemed to do the trick as his headache subsided enough for him to drift into a light sleep as Stiles did some homework in the armchair, occasionally making little sounds of triumphant low in his throat when he figured out a particularly tough equation. When Derek woke up a few hours later he found that Stiles had tucked a few pillows under his head and had tossed a blanket over him, keeping him warm in the cool loft while he slept.

Derek had opened his mouth to thank him when his stomach had let out a thunderous growl, his own body cutting him off in a plea of hungry, Stiles’ head snapping up when he heard the loud grumble from the couch. With a smirk, Stiles had needlessly asked if Derek was hungry, already pushing himself to his feet to make the short walk to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll put some soup on.”

Derek nodded to himself, willing to eat almost anything Stiles offered him, sinking back against the fluffy pillows Stiles had grabbed from off the bed by the wall of windows, along with the blanket. It was a nice heavy wool throw that Melissa had gotten him for his birthday back in September, nice and cozy and absolutely perfect for rainy days spent reading in bed while sipping a steaming cup of tea or a glass of red wine.

He smiled at the thought, realizing that he had never truly appreciated being virtually impervious to all known diseases and illnesses before, resolving to be more appreciative of his invulnerability in the future and more sensitive to humans’ woes. Before now he had never really understood why people became so miserable when they had colds or flus, never fully comprehending the magnitude of the symptoms until he experienced them himself.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Stiles returned to the living room with a tray of hot chicken noodle soup with whole grain rice instead of pasta noodles and a sleeve of low sodium saltine crackers, a chilled water bottle in his hand. He perched on the arm of the couch by Derek’s head, so close that Derek could tilt his head to the side a few scant centimeters and touch Stiles’ hip, and set the tray up in Derek’s lap.

He twisted open the bottle of water and set it down next to Derek’s hand, waiting for him to curl his fingers around it before standing back up, socked feet thumping against the polished concrete floor as he straightened up. Stiles turned to fuss with Derek’s covers, tugging the wool blanket higher up on him until it nearly covered his chin, leaning over to peck him on the forehead, shocking Derek into freezing stock still.

“Hmm…” Stiles hummed thoughtfully, adorable upturned nose scrunching up as he scratched the back of his head, his other hand on his cocked hip. With a firm nod and a glance at Derek’s face, he surmised, “Yeah, still pretty warm―” he flicked his eyes over to the bowl of soup in front of Derek “―C’mon, dude, eat up. It’s gonna get cold.”

Derek barely heard anything he said, too busy gaping at Stiles who was already immersed in solving a problem to calculate the dopamine error signal, scribbling away in his notebook as he chewed on his bottom lip while thinking about how best to solve the equation. All Derek could think about was the fact that Stiles had just kissed him.

Stiles must have noticed his not so subtle gawking because he raised his head to look at Derek, cocking his head to the side and muttering, “Dude, what? It didn’t mean anything. I was just checking your temperature, the pharmacy was out of thermometers.”

Derek was no longer hungry. He struggled to push himself up straighter, lifting the tray off his lap and unceremoniously plopping it on the coffee table, a bit of broth from the soup sloshing over the side of the ceramic bowl to trip onto the wood table. Sluggishly, still feeling sick, Derek crossed his arms over his chest and rolled over onto his side, hiding his face from Stiles as he grumbled under his breath, “Meant something to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut the second the words were out of his mouth, immediately regretting ever uttering them because now the cat was officially out of the bag, now Stiles knew. Eyes tightly closed, Derek pressed his face into the couch cushions, internally berating himself for being so stupid, revealing a years-long secret in one second of rash indignation.

He had to force himself not to whine aloud when he heard the creak of the recliner as Stiles stood, followed by the tattoo of his feet on the concrete floor as he walked, Derek was sure of it, to the door. Stiles was going to walk right out of the loft, and out of Derek’s life for good, because the one time Derek decided to express his emotions instead of burying them deep down inside, he ruined everything.

It hurt. Much worse than all the times he had been slashed with claws or shot full of lead or impaled with metal pipes and poles and scores of other things. Because this wasn’t just some skin and muscle deep wound. No, it was as though someone had plucked up his already bruised, undeniably fragile heart and decided to throw it onto the ground and stomp on it.

The footsteps steadily grew closer, Derek’s heart shattering more and more with every step he heard, the echo reverberating through the loft, the loft that would be forever too-empty when Stiles inevitably left. The same way it was always too-empty when Stiles wasn’t there to make it feel a little bit more like home, when Stiles wasn’t there to brighten it with his laughter and his smile, when Stiles wasn’t there to make him feel less alone.

Derek couldn’t help but flinch when Stiles took a seat on the edge of the couch by his hip, feeling the dip in the cushions as Stiles hesitantly laid a warm hand on his shoulder, goosebumps breaking out across Derek’s chilled skin. In a voice so soft it could barely be considered a whisper, Stiles tentatively murmured, “Derek? Can you turn over?―” a second of silence passed before he faintly tacked on “―Please?”

Derek didn’t want to. He didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. Didn’t want to see a forced smile on his lips. Didn’t want to hear Stiles let him down easy and explain that he didn’t feel the same way but hopefully they could still be friends. He didn’t want any of it.

But he rolled over all the same. He had never been all that good at denying Stiles anything.

Derek shifted onto his back but he kept his eyes cast down, no longer caring if he looked like a sullen child or not, pretty sure he was about to get his heart irrevocably broken. It was bad enough that he would have to feel it, he didn’t want to have to watch it too.

“Y’know, Der, it’s kinda hard to kiss you at that angle. Mind sitting up a bit?” Stiles asked, a smile in his voice. Derek’s eyes snapped up to meet Stiles in shock and disbelief because there was no way that Stiles had just said that― Cocking his head to the side, Stiles reiterated his question, this time much more blunt as he inquired, “Can I kiss you, big guy?”

Derek couldn’t speak, all his attempts at formulating words resulting in him gaping up at Stiles like a fish flopping around on a riverbank, instead resorting to nodding furiously as he pushed himself up straighter, spine more vertical than a flagpole. He was fascinated by the deep red flush that had stolen to Stiles’ cheeks, so unlike the usually brash and headstrong teenager to blush, finding himself unable to look away from his endearingly blotchy face.

Derek watched, enraptured, as Stiles carefully leaned in towards him, moving a hand to the back of the couch to brace himself up as he inched closer, licking his lips as he did. Derek was riveted to the sight, fixated on the way Stiles’ plump bottom lip was suddenly glossy with a tantalizing bit of spit, which he realized didn’t sound all that tantalizing, but to him, it was more enticing that any promised land ever hailed as paradise.

When Stiles was a mere precious few inches away, his breath warm on Derek’s face and his shiny lips so close that Derek could practically taste them, something suddenly occurred to Derek, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. Stiles, his eyes already gently closed in preparation for their long-awaited kiss, didn’t notice until his lips encountered something that clearly wasn’t a pair of lips, jerking his head back in surprise to look down at Derek questioningly.

“I’m sick,” Derek said simply, as though it was something horrible and disgusting, his eyes wide as he mumbled from behind his hand, words muffled slightly. Stiles tilted his head to the side as he explained, swallowing before pointing out, “And probably contagious.”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles instructed with a smile, leaning back in to kiss Derek. His lips gently rasped against Derek’s as he assured him, “You’re definitely worth getting sick over.”

He had gone out of his way in order to make it as memorable as possible, wanting their first anniversary to be wonderful and special for Stiles, spending over a week carefully planning out each and every minute detail. He wasn’t ashamed to say that he may or may not have spent an exorbitant amount of money making sure everything was utterly perfect. It was for Stiles, so he really didn’t care anyway.

He had ordered balloons, both latex and Mylar foil, from every party store in the county, in the process probably selling out the stores. Their designs ranged from simple monotone latex balloons of various shades of pink and red to more elaborate foil balloons shaped like roses and cakes and giant letters spelling out Happy Anniversary!

Once they arrived, troves of delivery trucks arriving at the loft to drop off all the balloons, he painstakingly arranged them by the wall of windows, making sure the ones spelling out the declaration of their anniversary were front and center. He had taken a moment to stand back and inspect his handiwork, the sunlight radiating in through the multitudinous windows filtered through the balloons too, coloring the polished concrete floor in a kaleidoscopic dappling of pink and white with hints of red.

Along with the balloons, he had ordered bouquets of flowers from every florist in a ten mile radius, not bothering to worry one whit about the price tag as he rattled off requests for specific flower arrangements. He wanted to stay away from cliché red roses, Stiles deserving something more special and unique than what most people got on their anniversary, instead picking out a variety of other flowers.

He had selected various bouquets of all sorts of different flowers from light pink carnations to red orchids, from white dahlias to pink ranunculus, from red lilies to white roses. He thought they were all pretty, spending a few hours online looking at flower pictures on Google Images before ordering them, but he was no florist. He just hoped Stiles liked them.

He had set the bouquets up all around the loft, scattering some of the rose petals over the floor and the fresh sheets on his bed, sure that Stiles would probably appreciate some anniversary sex. As he spread some of the petals over the bed, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the fact that Stiles would inevitably make a lighthearted jab about it being cliché.

But as long as it made Stiles smile, Derek really couldn’t care less about whatever sarcastic comments his boyfriend made. It was why he loved him after all.

A few days earlier, he had picked up his present for Stiles, a surprise he had hidden in the pocket of his leather jacket, the only place he could think of that Stiles wouldn’t get into before their anniversary, well aware of his boyfriend’s tendency to snoop. It was a ring, one he had wanted to get Stiles for over a year now, still a little nervous about actually giving it to him. He didn’t want to come on too strong and overwhelm him, didn’t want to scare Stiles away.

So, in addition to the ring, he had gotten Stiles a few other gifts, cutesy little things that he thought Stiles might get a kick out of. He had found a stuffed black wolf at the grocery store the week before, immediately thinking of Stiles when he read the message on the little red heart the wolf held, the words howlin’ for you! written in cursive embroidery.

He had also bought them matching charms for their keyrings, a silver Batman symbol for Stiles with the words my Batman engraved on the back and a silver Superman S for himself, the words my Superman etched on it. It was both a tribute to Stiles’ undying love of all things superhero and a reference to last Halloween, Stiles insisting that they do couple’s costumes for their first Halloween together, practically begging for him to okay them going to the pack Halloween party as Batman and Superman.

With all of the presents wrapped and the loft awash in a sea of deep reds and pale pinks thanks to the abundance and flowers and balloons filling the loft, Derek had shifted his attention to making himself look as presentable possible. He had trimmed his beard a bit and combed his hair after a long shower with the body wash he knew Stiles preferred, leaving the bathroom smelling like Old Spice and aftershave. After seriously considering a button-up and slacks, Derek decided that less was more, throwing on a deep maroon Henley and the tightest jeans he owned, tugging on his favorite pair of boots.

Freshly showered and dressed, he shifted gears again and refocused on getting dinner ready. He had gathered everything necessary to make Stiles’ favorite recipe, Derek’s mother’s famous homemade lasagna, brushing the dust off of one of his mother’s cookbooks to find the recipe though he knew it by heart, wanting to double check every step he made.

He was frying up some toasted ravioli for an appetizer, the lasagna still needing some more time in the oven, when he heard the unmistakeable metallic groan of the heavy steel door being tugged open. Smiling to himself, he scooped the last of the ravioli out of the pan of hot oil, laying them on a plate to cool as he turned the stove top off and turned to stroll out of the kitchen to greet Stiles.

Stiles’ smile easily outshone the late afternoon sun outside as he scanned his eyes over the transformed loft, a look of pure awe on his beautiful face as he curiously looked around, unable to fight his natural inquisitiveness. Derek lingered by the kitchen, folding his arms over his chest as he watched Stiles walk further into the loft, beaming down at the flower petals Derek had scattered over the polished concrete floor.

He set his bag down on the coffee table, a red gift bag with little hearts emblazoned all over it, and continued to wander around through the loft, taking in each and every detail that Derek had painstakingly agonized over. He dragged the pad of his thumb over a delicate rose petal as he rounded the back of the couch, heading over to the wall of windows that was obscured by the cloud of balloons Derek had ordered.

“This fucking dork,” Stiles mumbled, palpable fondness audible in every syllable as he ducked his chin and shook his head, dragging his teeth over his plump bottom lip. He had turned to look at the other side of the room, drinking in the sight of all the flowers spread throughout the loft, when he finally noticed Derek watching him from the kitchen doorway. “Oh! Hey, babe!”

“Hey, yourself,” Derek said by way of greeting, pushing himself off the wall and striding over to slip his arms around Stiles’ waist, reeling him in close so he could plant a warm kiss on his lips. Stiles sighed into it, throwing his arms around Derek’s neck as he returned the soft kiss, smiling against Derek’s lips.

“This all for me, big guy?” Stiles asked, breaking the kiss to rake his eyes around the loft before turning back to Derek with a radiant grin, raising a curious brow.

“No, it’s actually for my other boyfriend,” Derek quipped, smirking down mischievously at Stiles, tightening his arms around his waist and swaying a bit. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Derek leaned in close and teasingly informed him, “And he’ll be here soon so you’ll have to shoo.”

“Ugh, asshole!” Stiles crowed with a punched out laugh, smacking Derek on the shoulder as he threw his head back and laughed deeply. Raising his head, nearly cracking their skulls together, he pecked Derek on the lips with a crooked smirk of his own, announcing, “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Derek couldn’t help but agree, nuzzling his nose against Stiles’ cheek, bumping their foreheads together while he closed his eyes. Basking in the scent of Stiles, complemented by the subtle perfume of flowers and the savory smell of dinner, Derek murmured, “Yeah, I really, really am.”

“Aww…” Stiles drawled, leaning into Derek’s gentle touch as he buried a hand in the werewolf’s thick black hair, combing his fingers through the silky soft strands. He tilted his head to the side to press a kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth, mumbling, “Such a sweetwolf.”

Derek couldn’t have fought the smile that stretched across his face if he wanted to, lifting his head to peck Stiles’ on the temple, raising a hand to ruffle his boyfriend’s already tousled hair. His smile morphed into a crooked smirk when Stiles yelped indignantly and swatted his hand away to fuss with his disheveled bedhead, shooting a half-hearted glare that was belied by the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Derek was about to kiss Stiles again, unable to help himself when it came to Stiles, when the oven beeped, loud and shrill, completely interrupting them to beckon him back into the kitchen before dinner got burned. He groaned petulantly with an exaggerated pout, jutting his bottom lip out as he turned to walk back into the kitchen, commenting, “That’s dinner.”

Stiles followed him into the kitchen, leaning back against the wall while he watched Derek open the oven door and inspect the lasagna, making sure that it was fully cooked before carefully pulling it out of the oven. He noticed Stiles licking his lips as he set the lasagna on the counter to cool down a bit, wanting to avoid Stiles scalding his tongue and the roof of his mouth like he had the last time Derek had made lasagna.

“How about we let it cool this time, babe?” Derek suggested, turning back around to Stiles who frowned at him, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly as he raised a brow at his boyfriend. His frown was only replaced by a bright smile when Derek indicated the plate of toasted ravioli, Stiles’ stomach letting out a well-timed rumble at the sight of the food as Derek assured him, “Don’t worry, I made an appetizer.”

“God, you’re so amazing,” Stiles announced emphatically, walking passed Derek to the plate of ravioli, making grabby hands at the fried pasta. Derek just shook his head at his antics and handed one to Stiles along with a napkin, grabbing one for himself and taking a small bite. Wiping his mouth with the napkin, Stiles impatiently wondered, “So, when do I get my present?”

“That all you care about, Stiles? Your present?” Derek inquired, cocking an amused brow at his boyfriend who had a piece of the ravioli breading stuck on his bottom lip. He brushed it off with the side of his thumb, dragging the pad of his finger over the smooth pink curve of Stiles’ lip.

“Of course,” Stiles agreed, nodding his head solemnly even as he smiled sweetly up at Derek. “Well, that and the sex―” he paused for a moment, furrowing his brow “―there is gonna be anniversary sex, right?”

“Maybe,” Derek conceded with a tilt of his head, smirking down at Stiles who beamed right back up at him, actually bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit. Mischief stretching his smirk into a wicked grin, Derek added, “If you’re good.”

Stiles barked out a loud laugh, tossing his head back as he did, curling a hand around his stomach, his sides visibly shaking. Setting his half-eaten raviolo aside, he chuckled, “Like that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

Derek snorted under his breath before turning back to the task at hand, picking up the plate of ravioli and a few extra napkins, spinning around to carry the appetizer back into the living room. Setting the plate and the napkins down on the coffee table, Derek lit the three white tapered candles he had set up earlier, pulling a book of matches out of his back pocket.

He jogged back to the kitchen to grab a bowl of his own homemade marinara sauce and the loaf of garlic bread he had prepared, this time gesturing for Stiles to follow him. Stiles plopped down on the couch with a wide grin, picking up his half-eaten raviolo and taking another big bite, watching Derek as he hurried back to the kitchen to grab something else.

He returned to the living room holding a bottle of red wine in one hand and two wine glasses in the other, a corkscrew tucked into his pocket so he didn’t have to make another trip to the kitchen. Stiles raised a brow at him as he took a seat beside him on the couch, eyeing the bottle of wine skeptically as Derek set it and the glasses down on the coffee table.

“Wine? Really, Mr. Responsible?” Stiles teased, poking Derek in the ribs, eliciting a laugh from his boyfriend as he tugged the corkscrew out of his pocket. Ripping off a piece of his ravioli to dip into the marinara sauce, getting a bit on his fingers, Stiles continued his teasing, inquiring, “You forget I’m only nineteen, Deputy Hale?”

Derek shrugged, setting to work uncorking the bottle of cabernet sauvignon with a triumphant grunt when he got it on the first try, admittedly using a bit of werewolf strength. He wasn’t above showing off a little. Pouring Stiles his glass first, he dismissed any qualms Stiles might have had, simply stating, “It’s a special occasion.”

Stiles accepted his glass of wine with a conspiratorial smirk, raising it to clink against Derek’s, winking at his boyfriend over the rim of his glass as he took a long, heady sip. Setting his glass down, Stiles glanced over at Derek out of the corner of his eye, picking at his ravioli as he soaked in how happy Derek looked, soft and content.

They ate their ravioli appetizer in relative silence, on occasion taking little sips of their wine as they lightly bumped shoulders and played an awkwardly angled version of footsie. After finishing their appetizer, Derek stood from the couch, leaning over to kiss the top of Stiles’ head as he gathered the empty plate and dirty napkins.

After tossing the napkins into the trash can and putting the plate in the sink, Derek cut the lasagna, loading up two plates with hearty servings of the dish, leaving some room for the garlic bread. He chuckled to himself at the way Stiles’ eyes lit up when he handed him one of the plates, licking his lips and digging in with his fork before Derek could even sit down, moaning around a mouthful of lasagna.

The entree portion of their meal passed much the same way as the appetizer, both of them just basking in each other’s company as they ate in silence, occasionally meeting one another’s eyes with soft, private smiles. Stiles ended up eating off of Derek’s plate, stealing more than a quarter of his lasagna, Derek’s werewolf appetite no match for the seemingly bottomless pit that was Stiles’ stomach.

“Please tell me there’s dessert, too,” Stiles said, wiping some sauce off of his cheek with his napkin, somehow still hungry despite how much he had already eaten. Not even the slightest bit surprised, Derek rolled his eyes and nodded, standing to make yet another run to the kitchen, returning with two large cannolis on a small plate and a bottle of chocolate syrup. Stiles pumped his fist in the air and proudly proclaimed, “Dude, you’re the best boyfriend ever!”

A wide smile stretched across Derek’s face as he walked over to the couch, puffing out his chest a bit, feeling a flattered blush warm his cheeks. Stiles leaned over to kiss Derek on the cheek as he took his seat again, sneakily grabbing one of the cannolis from off the plate, sitting back and taking an eager bite after announcing, “And I’m not just saying that because you ply me with good food.”

“Good?” Derek asked casually, getting a little more comfortable in his seat before picking up his own cannoli, waiting for Stiles to nod enthusiastically before taking a bite. He had to agree, it was pretty good. He was glad he had decided to pick them up from the bakery down the street.

They ate dessert slowly, savoring the delicious treats and joking around with each other, Stiles gathering some of the cannoli filling on the tip of his finger to smear across Derek’s cheeks with a loud, self-satisfied laugh. Derek retaliated by flicking a mini chocolate chip at him, the morsel bouncing off the center of his forehead before skittering across the concrete floor, startling a gasp out of him.

Once they were finished, both feeling like stuffed pigs, Stiles grabbed the bag he had brought with him and thrust it into Derek’s chest. Beaming up at him, nodding eagerly, he insisted, “You first.”

Derek had no complaints. He reached into the bag, bypassing the frilly white tissue paper to pull out a pink envelope sealed with a red heart shaped sticker, his name written on the back in thick black Sharpie. Flicking his eyes up to briefly meet Stiles’, he used his fingernail to peel the sticker off and open the envelope, carefully pulling out the card.

On the glossy front were two rudimentary stick figures drawn in red, kissing, hearts doodled around their heads, the image alone enough to make him break out into a brilliant smile. There were words scrawled in a darker shade of red above the stick figures, a short little poem reading Roses are red, but sometimes thorny. When I think of you, I get kinda…

He opened the card to read the rest of the poem, though he was already pretty sure that he knew how it ended. Though, to his surprise, the single word written in same deep red cursive font was corny. Beneath it in parentheses was a lighthearted admonishment, claiming (I know what you were thinking! Shame on you!)

Derek huffed out an amused, shaking his head at the card that was just so Stiles that it warmed his heart. Below the words in parentheses, was an additional little note in Stiles’ own sloppy handwriting, reading, Happy anniversary to the most amazing, gorgeous, brilliant, fantastic, wonderful boyfriend I could ever wish for! Love you, Der!

Derek raised his head to grin at Stiles, setting the card aside to cup the back of Stiles’ neck, pulling him into a sweet, chaste kiss that they both ended up smiling into. Mumbling against Stiles’ lips, he relayed, “Thank you.”

“Dude, there’s more. Now, c’mon, open your present,” Stiles urged, raising a hand to drag his nails through Derek’s dark stubble, resting their foreheads together. He pulled away a few moments later, nodding his head towards the gift bag in Derek’s lap, clapping his hands together eagerly.

Derek reached into the bag again, rooting around through the abundance of tissue paper Stiles had shoved in the bag until he grabbed ahold of a leather box, lifting it out of the bag and setting it on his knee. He flicked the silver clasp open and lifted the lid of the box, peering inside to see what Stiles had gotten him.

It was a watch. But not just any watch. It was a dark sterling silver watch with a custom watch face boasting a picture of him and Stiles, a photo from their first Christmas together, both of them donning bright red Santa hats as Stiles kissed him on the cheek under the fake bough of mistletoe the Sheriff had hung in the kitchen doorway. Derek ran his thumb his thumb over the watch face, vividly remembering the night the photo had been taken.

They had spent it with the rest of the pack at Stiles’ house, the Sheriff more than happy to host a big party for everyone, he and Stiles spending hours slaving away in the kitchen to make a feast and a half for the entire pack before a huge gift exchange. Stiles had smiled the whole night, lingering beneath the mistletoe for the sole purpose of reeling Derek in for a series of deep, slow kisses while everyone else pretended to gag at their blatant PDA. Derek didn’t think he had ever gotten his picture taken as much as he had that night, Stiles wanting as many pictures of them together as possible.

“Turn it over,” Stiles instructed, Derek obediently doing just that, flipping the watch over to inspect the underside of the watch face. He found words engraved in the dark metal, declaring, One year down… Forever to go… I will love you until the end of time.

He raised his head to look at Stiles, feeling choked up in spite of the fact that he wasn’t even talking, noting the fact that Stiles, too, looked rather emotional, his face flushed. Derek immediately slipped the watch on his left wrist, securing the band as he leaned over to kiss Stiles again, awkwardly cupping his face in his free hand while running his thumb over Stiles’ smooth cheek.

“So, I guess you like it?” Stiles wondered aloud, lifting a hand to comb through the short hairs at the nape of Derek’s neck, scratching his nails over the sensitive skin. A smile teased at the corner of his lips as he asked the question.

“I love it,” Derek answered, letting his eyes fall closed as he inhaled deeply, soaking up his favorite scent, the scent of Stiles safe and secure in his arms. Pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips, he suggested, “Now, how about you stay right here and I’ll grab your presents?”

He rose from the couch as Stiles nodded, hurrying over to the bed by the wall of windows to tug Stiles’ presents out from under the mattress where he had stashed them earlier, not wanting Stiles to find them while snooping around. Grabbing the most important present from the pocket of his leather jacket, he rushed back over to the couch, handing Stiles the pale pink gift bag and the stuffed wolf that hadn’t fit in the bag, Stiles snatching the plush canine right out of his hands to hug against his chest.

“I love it,” Stiles mumbled, nuzzling his cheek against the plush black fur of the stuffed wolf, his arms wrapped tightly around its plump belly. He had closed his eyes, snuggling the stuffed animal some more, both of which making Derek breath out a laugh as he sat back down on the couch.

“There’s more,” Derek informed him, shaking the gift bag as he nervously ran his thumb over the small box he tucked under his thigh, unbelievably anxious to pop the big question. Stiles looked up at the bag, loosening his grip on the stuffed wolf and setting it to the side, a bright smile stretching across his face as he made grabby hands at the bag.

Derek handed it over without putting up any semblance of a fight, plopping it down in Stiles’ lap and patiently waiting for him to open his present, eagerly awaiting his boyfriend’s reaction. Stiles shoved his hand into the bag the moment it was within his reach, tossing the tissue paper over his shoulder in his haste to get to his present, lifting the small cardboard box out along with a pristine white envelope, cooing.

Without so much as a by your leave, he ripped open the envelope to tug out the card, though he did take a few moments to curiously examine the front, eyes scanning over it. The card was a deep dark red, a large heart drawn in a glittery gold with the words Loved you yesterday, love you still. Always have, always will, written in black in the center of the heart.

Reverently running his fingers over the words, Stiles opened the card to read the message inside, smiling down at the little sentiment. In an intricate cursive, inked in black, were the words, Every day we spend together, I thank my lucky stars that I met you… You are the love of my life and I can’t imagine being without you… Below the little blurb of sweet words, Derek had penned a message of his own, writing a succinct, Happy anniversary, Stiles. I love you.

Stiles threw his arms around Derek’s neck to tug him into a tight hug, smacking a sloppy wet kiss to his stubbled cheek, before straightening back up to reach into the gift bag again for his other present. He popped the lid off before he even lifted the box out of the gift bag, turning it over in his hand so as not to drop anything as he pulled his hand out of the bag.

Checking his palm, he found the little silver Batman keychain charm, his jaw dropping as he turned the charm over to read the words engraved on the back. Smiling, he looked up at Derek and asked, “Wait, do you―?”

“Yeah,” Derek confirmed, cutting Stiles off, already knowing what he was trying to ask. He fished his keys out of his pocket to show off the Superman charm he had already put on his keyring, flipping it over to show Stiles the engraving on it. Needlessly, he explained, “They match.”

“You’re such a sap. A nerdy sap,” Stiles sighed dreamily, grinning widely at his ridiculously romantic boyfriend as he pulled his own keys out of the pocket of his hoodie, promptly slipping the Batman charm onto his keyring. Dropping his keys on the coffee table, Stiles scooted closer to his boyfriend, biting his lower lip as he murmured, “So… What now…?―” he peered over Derek’s shoulder with a flash of mischief in his eyes “―Because that bed over there looks nice and comfy. Perfect for all kinds of horizontal activities.”

Derek rolled his eyes, not even pretending to be surprised by his boyfriend’s oftentimes one track mind. But before he could give in and just hop into bed with Stiles, he reminded himself that he had one more present for Stiles.

“Uh, actually I have something else for you,” Derek announced, clearing his throat awkwardly while he scratched the back of his head, casting his eyes down to stare at his own lap. He chewed the inside of his cheek, bouncing his leg anxiously as he waited for Stiles to react, feeling even more nervous than he thought he would.

“Aww, babe. You spoil me,” Stiles tsk-ed lightly, shifting to face Derek again, drawing the alpha’s eyes back to his own. He was smiling softly, his pale cheeks tinged with a lovely shade of subtle pink, looking eager and excited for whatever was to come.

“I, um… Well, I bought this awhile ago but… Uh, I wanted to wait for-for the right time…” Derek murmured, hopelessly fumbling with his words as he played with the box, moving it onto his lap where he stared down at it. Running his thumb over the seam of the box, the fine leather of the box smooth and grainless against the pad of his finger, he quietly claimed, “You don’t have to say yes or anything if you don’t want to… But I-I want you to have it anyway.”

“Uh, Derek…? Is that what I think it is…?” Stiles asked breathlessly, eyes widening as he stared at the box on Derek’s lap, swallowing heavily with an audible gulp. He snapped his eyes up to meet Derek’s, gawking at him incredulously before flicking his eyes back down to watch, entranced, as Derek opened the box to reveal the ring inside.

It was a simple enough ring, little more than just a thin silver band, no other accoutrements save for a unique design where one might expect to find a diamond or some other precious jewel. It was there that the silver was artfully twisted into a loose knot, the delicate design slightly reminiscent of a pretzel much to Stiles’ amusement. But it was no time for levity because he was pretty sure that Derek was proposing to him.

Raising a hand to his mouth, Stiles bit his lower lip to keep himself from blurting out something stupid, his eyes darting between the ring and Derek’s face, a beautifully hopeful expression softening his features. Sniffling as he felt tears brimming in his eyes, Stiles somehow managed to choke out, “Derek?”

“I know you still have three more years of college and I know you think it’s kinda stupid when people get engaged or married while still in school…” Derek started, carefully lifting the ring out of the box, tracing his thumb over the knot in the ring. Reaching over to pick up Stiles’ left hand, running his thumb over the back of his palm, he continued on, elaborating, “So, think of it as more of a promise ring.”

Hesitantly, he looked up at Stiles, searching his big brown doe eyes for some clue as to what he was feeling, what he was thinking, anxiety and excitement and a bit of fear all mixing together in his scent. But all Derek found were tears. Terrified that he had completely ruined everything, Derek sidled over to Stiles, squeezing his hand reassuringly as he reluctantly asked, “Stiles? Do you-Do you not…”

“Of course I do, you idiot!” Stiles blurted out, throwing his arms around Derek’s shoulders to reel him in for a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. Scrambling into Derek’s lap, Stiles tearfully mumbled, “I love you, Derek. So much.”

“So, is that a yes?” Derek asked earnestly, not trying to be sarcastic, genuinely needing to hear it confirmed verbally, hear Stiles accept his proposal. For someone as taciturn as himself, he knew that honest, clear communication was important, now more than ever.

“Yes, it’s a yes!” Stiles laughed wetly, pulling back to lift his left hand up to Derek to see, wiggling his ring finger for emphasis as he nodded his head to indicate the ring in Derek’s hand. Derek snapped to attention and into action, slipping the ring onto Stiles’ finger so that they could both see it. Leaning his head against the side of Derek’s, he murmured softly, “It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it really is,” Derek answered, leaning back against the couch cushions, cradling Stiles in his arms. Running his hand up and down Stiles’ back, he admired the knot of silver on Stiles’ finger. It really was perfect. Everything was.