#tbtbind

—

When Stiles has his hand in his pocket for the millionth time, absentmindedly running his thumb over some object as he looks out the window, Derek finally gets curious enough to ask.

“What is that?”

Stiles tilts his head up from where it rests on Derek’s shoulder, his back pressed against Derek’s arm. “What’s what?”

“That thing in your pocket,” Derek glances down at Stiles’ jeans. “You’ve been messing with it for two days now.”

“Huh— oh.”

To Derek’s surprise, he sees hints of pink on Stiles’ cheeks, which instantly has him raising his eyebrow. Stiles pulls the object out of his pocket, holding it up for Derek to see.

It’s one of the many chess pieces Derek had carved for Stiles, doing his best to give Stiles things to keep his sanity from coming undone. He and Stiles had spent hours sitting close together on the stairs that day, Stiles pointing and describing how each piece should be carved, what details to put and where.

This one is the King.

The top has a protruding ring around a sphere, reminiscent of a crown sitting atop a head, centered to a tiny cross. The rest of the piece features dips and shapes and embellishments Stiles had insisted on, features that Derek has suspected was just an excuse for Stiles to design something himself.

Derek glances at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t realize you wanted a memento.”

As far as Derek is concerned, he never wants to remember anything about that shithole ever again. The less time he ever spends thinking about it, the better.

Stiles shrugs. “Well, maybe not of, you know… most of it. But this was… nice. What you did for me. So I wanted to keep it, I guess.”

Derek fully turns to look down at Stiles then, who steadfastly looks down at his lap and doesn’t move from where he’s slumped against Derek’s side. Over the bond, Derek can feel the sheepishness and slight embarrassment radiating from his mate.

Derek’s heart fucking melts.

He frees his right hand from the steering wheel to wrap around Stiles’ front, pulling him tighter against Derek’s side as he presses a kiss into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles seems to relax then, the embarrassment from before fading away. His hands come up to rest on Derek’s thick forearm, keeping it wrapped around him. “You don’t think it’s… weird?”

“I think you’re cute,” Derek admits.

The bond instantly floods with indignation. “Hey! I’m not—! I am a strapping young man, okay? I’m like, sexy or handsome or fetching, or something.”

Derek lets out a small huff of laughter. “Fetching?”

“I don’t know! ‘Cute’ is too girly, it feels weird!”

“You’re thinking way too hard about this.”

“I’m not! It’s weird!”

“Would you feel the same way if a girl called you cute?” Derek glances away from the road again, trying and failing to hold back the lilt to his lips.

Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Then he promptly shuts it, turning to swipe the crossword book off the dash, clicking the pen angrily. “You’re such an asshole, I don’t know why I like you.”

Derek hums. “I’m pretty sure I remember you saying you liked me because I’m an asshole—”