The Christmas Howl

-

The first firework to go off that night scares Stiles more than he’d care to admit and Derek’s obvious attempt at hiding a laugh doesn’t really do much for his masculinity. It’s not Stiles’ fault that being surrounded by creepy werewolves who sneak up on you all the time has him jumpier than a jack rabbit. In fact, he’s proud of himself; he’s gotten better at it.

But so have the werewolves.

Peter is less like the scary-killer-alpha-who-feeds-off-Stiles’-fear and is more like the crazy-yet-kind-of-sane-uncle-who-still-feeds-off-Stiles’-fear-from-time-to-time.

Boyd stopped taking shadow lessons from Derek and actually partakes in conversations instead of brooding in a corner; believe it or not, he’s actually the biggest instigator when it comes to pack cuddles.

Scott and Derek have actually started using his front door and not his window, which not only helps keep Stiles’ heart beating at a normal pace, but also makes his dad happy as well. He was like one step away from taking nails and boards to it, swear to God. 

Erica and Isaac, and even Jackson, have taken it upon themselves to collaborate together on “How should we terrorize Stiles this week”, but Stiles isn’t complaining because at least they’re working as a team and isn’t that every important lesson a child should learn?

He’s got his big bad Alpha around to protect him most times, so it’s not as bad as it could be. (Dear God, don’t let him jinx himself.)

“Are you even watching the fireworks or did you get lost inside your own head again?”

Speaking of big bad Alpha…

“Can’t a guy do both?” Stiles huffs, leaning back against Derek’s solid chest. They were snuggled up on a blanket in the middle of a field with Derek’s head buried in Stiles’ neck as Stiles rests his head back against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek hums and bites his earlobe. “Depends on what you were thinking about.”

“Thinking about anything right now,” Stiles gasps, “Is extremely difficult with you doing that.”

“Doing what?” Derek licks a stripe up his neck. “This?”

Stiles groans out a weak, “No fair” but doesn’t make any moves to stop him.

It’s only when they hear Scott making gagging noises while Erica and Lydia coo at them do they manage to separate.

“Forever associating them as fun ruiners,” Stiles mutters, bringing his knees up to his chest to hide his very obvious erection.

Derek breathes a laugh, but otherwise doesn’t comment. His arms tighten around Stiles’ chest as he brings his back closer to Derek’s front, wrapping him up nice and tight with all his extra werewolf heat.

Stiles’ sigh of content gets drowned out by the sound of several fireworks going off at the same time and children near by laugh in delight, staring up at the sky like it held the secret to eternal ice cream.

He couldn’t stop himself from staring, no matter how creepy this sounds, at a little baby girl bundled up in pink blankets, held close to her rocking mother as she babbles gibberish that even Stiles could hear over the other noises.

“You know,” Stiles says suddenly, angling his body so he can see Derek’s face, “We should get one of those.”

Derek frowns. “What, fireworks? Why would you-“

Stiles smacks Derek with the back of his hand, but all the good it does him is a bruised hand and some smug laughter. “I meant a baby, doofus.”

“Don’t you think we already have enough of those?” He jokes, gesturing to said babies who are currently piled up on top of each other; maybe a puppy pile or possibly some good old fashioned werewolf wrestling initiated by Jackson and Scott, Stiles wouldn’t doubt either option.

Derek turns Stiles’ face up to his and kisses him lightly. “If it made you happy, Stiles, I’d bring you all the babies in the world.”

Stiles moves his hand, not the one he used to smack Derek it’s still kind of smarting, to the back of Derek’s neck and tugs him closer. “Maybe not all the babies in the world, but a little girl would be perfect.” He pulls away and glances at their puppies. “Just… not now. Not until those idiots are out of our house, okay?”

-

Derek can’t tell how long he’s been awake, just lying there on his back in bed with his head propped up on the pillow placed against the headboard. He knows he’s been watching the sunrise through the blinds covering the window, but he can’t tell if it was five hours or five minutes ago. The present feels timeless; perhaps because he hasn’t allowed himself to relax until now.

He glances down to the still sleeping boy, rising and falling with the heaving of Derek’s chest. Stiles has got one hand grasping the front of Derek’s t-shirt as he sleeps, face nuzzled into the fabric. He hasn’t moved an inch for as long as Derek has been watching him, how ever long that may be. He’s not bothered by the rhythm of Derek’s breathing because they’re breathing together, in the exact same pace. Derek can’t tell when that happened either.

One of his hands remains where it is, holding Stiles’ shoulder with the arm wrapped around him, while the other slides down to run its fingers through the short, soft hair. It’s even softer than Derek imagined it to be.

A weak smile spreads across his lips when he moves his hand to Stiles’ face. He brushes his thumb over the cheekbone, tracing the jaw with his forefinger. His smile only grows wider when Stiles barely reacts to his touch and Derek isn’t complaining; he could happily spend the rest of Christmas Day like this.

The sun’s streaming through the window blinds, casting stripes of lights over the bed. Derek runs another two fingers over Stiles’ warm cheek, feeling his heartbeat hot and comfortable inside his chest. Stiles is so beautiful, but he doubt he’d ever take a compliment like that seriously.

When he hears steps approaching Stiles’ bedroom door, he doesn’t flinch away. He doesn’t even move – even if he’d reentered the house behind the sheriff’s back last night. He’s done running and hiding, specially from Stiles’ side.

There’s a gentle knock on the door before it’s swung open. Stiles sighs deeply in his sleep but doesn’t move to acknowledge the sound. The sheriff peeks his head inside and his eyes immediately catch Derek’s before moving own to Stiles. There’s surprise in them and then there isn’t.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” He says softly, offering him a reassuring, but tired, smile.

“Merry Christmas, Sheriff,” Derek greets back with a grateful nod.

The sheriff returns his attention to his son still sleeping soundly, Derek’s hand stroking his hair and neck, and shakes his head. There’s something very fond in his eyes and Derek figures he hasn’t seen his boy sleep this peaceful in a long time. He swallows the happy lump in his throat, wondering if he might have been the reason.

Eventually the sheriff sighs lightly and looks back at Derek.

“When you two are ready, there’s presents and breakfast downstairs.”

Derek nods again and smiles weakly in response, feeling as if it’s too good to be true when the father of the boy in his arms returns the gesture before turning to close the door behind him, leaving them alone.

He drops his gaze back to Stiles’ illuminated face, feeling his heart swell all over again. Part of him doesn’t want Stiles to ever wake up, to have this moment remain, their hearts beating right next to each other for the rest of eternity. But he doesn’t want to keep Stiles’ dad waiting or Stiles will complain about him not waking him up.

Carefully he arches his back and dips his head down to place a soft kiss on Stiles’ forehead. He can feel his own heart skip a beat at the simple contact and grins at how easily this boy gets under his shell, penetrating the walls he worked so hard to build up. Stiles lets out a dragged out groan and starts moving in slow motion. The grip on Derek’s shirt is lost and the hand turns into a fist, sliding on the sheet as he stretches.

After further shuffling around and mumbling incoherent noises, his eyes finally slide open and Derek is thankful that there’s no one around to acknowledge the butterflies in his stomach swirling. Stiles blinks up at him slowly, still with one of his cheeks pressed against Derek’s chest. Then the goofiest grin spreads across his face and Derek lets out a huff, not able to handle Stiles’ cuteness.

Without saying anything, he runs his hand through the boy’s hair again before settling it on the back of his neck, stroking the skin there. And Stiles just lets him, eyes remaining fixed on Derek’s through the silence.

“I thought I had the most amazing dream,” he murmurs. “About the perfect Christmas.” The hand lying flat on the mattress comes up to curl its fingers into Derek’s hair. “Apparently… it wasn’t a dream.”

Derek shivers at the contact, eyelids falling shut for a second while another grin grows on his face. It still feels weird because he’s not used to smiling this much all at the same time. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it, ever get used to Stiles.

When he looks up again, Stiles’ eyes are flickering over him. He lets his hand drop to slide down Derek’s neck to the wolf-shaped pendant lying on his chest. Derek had nearly forgotten all about it until Stiles’ fingers trace the chain around his neck, reminding him of the silver put over his head by Stiles’ own hands last night. As the boys eyes slowly return to his, Derek feels a longing pulling at his gut, and he leaps forward.

Stiles seems to have been thinking the same thing and tilts his head up to meet him half way. Their lips collide in a firm and tender kiss, both of them breathing out in relief through their noses at the long-missed contact. Derek can hear Stiles’ pulse rise alongside his own and it’s no less thrilling than it was last night.

He only leans back when Stiles parts his lips in a much needed breath of air. The kiss is interrupted, but their faces remain close. Derek leans his forehead against Stiles’ while caressing the thin line of hair littering the back of the boy’s neck. Stiles closes his eyes and Derek can feel him shiver beneath his fingertips. It makes him smile with pride, but not because of the power he has over him, because he knows Stiles’ touch affects him just the same. They’re equally affected by one another and that makes Derek feel more powerful than he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Your dad’s got breakfast ready,” he murmurs with his eyes still on Stiles’ parted lips.

Stiles looks at him with confusion at first, but drops the frown when it’s obvious nothing is wrong.

“Not hungry,” he says simply while shifting to lie on his stomach on Derek’s torso, running one thumb along Derek’s jaw with his eyes following his own finger.

Derek lifts his eyebrows in surprise even if his full attention is on Stiles’ face and hands.

“There are presents,” he tries absently, sliding both hands down to Stiles’ hips.

Stiles breathes out huskily onto his face. Derek can feel his entire body warm under the palm of his hands, even through their clothes. Both their hearts are beating fast and hard, pounding against their ribs.

“Don’t want them,” Stiles replies, and his voice is only a whisper now, sending sparks down Derek’s entire body. Finally Stiles lets their eyes lock on each other again. “Got you.”

Derek manages to catch the darkened longing in Stiles’ golden brown eyes before he’s leaning forward again to claim his mouth in another passionate kiss, and whatever Derek was about to say in protest turns into a happy, muffled moan.

- - -

Downstairs, the sheriff glances up at the clock on the kitchen wall ten minutes after he left Stiles’ room. There hasn’t been a sound since then.

“They’re gonna have a late breakfast,” he rumbles.

Across the table Melissa McCall reaches over to place a hand above his, chuckling softly. He can’t help but smile back at her.

“I think every one of these kids would agree that this was the perfect Christmas,” she says convincingly.

The sheriff raises an eyebrow. ”Kids?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad!” Melissa remarks. “At least Derek isn’t driven by teenage-hormones like my son. God knows what he and Allison are doing in an empty house…”

At that, he scoffs, flipping his hand over to squeeze her fingers.

“You’re right,” he agrees with a sigh of defeat. “I haven’t seen Stiles so… calm, for a very long time.”

She smirks and leans over the table.

-

Stiles can’t recall the last time he’d spent most of Christmas Eve pacing back and forth in the living room, but he was pretty sure it was several years ago. When you’re a kid, Christmas is no doubt the most exciting time of the year and you spend all day impatiently awaiting Santa’s arrival.

Today he’s feeling that childish excitement again and the butterflies are going crazy in his stomach every time he throws a glance at the clock, counting down the exact moment the pack should be here.

“I don’t get it,” his dad mutters from the kitchen. “You see them every single day!”

And Stiles doesn’t have a good answer for that. Perhaps it’s the thought of them all gathered on the one night of the year when you’re supposed to be with your loved ones and knowing one of them is Derek.

The McCall’s ring the doorbell first.

Scott throws himself at Stiles, giving him a bear hug and almost knocking them both over in the process. They witness their parents embrace and Melissa kissing the Sheriff’s cheek shortly and exchange a secret smile as the adults heads into the kitchen to finish dinner.

Allison and Lydia appear next; Chris waves to the boys from the car before driving off. Scott pulls his girlfriend into a happy kiss while Lydia hugs Stiles before demanding everyone’s opinion on her new dress. None of them dare say anything but it being absolutely gorgeous and Stiles catches Melissa playfully rolling her eyes.

A Porsche pulls up on the driveway and soon Jackson and Danny squish into the hallway with them. The former douche bag actually claps Scott and Stiles’ shoulder before heading off to find Lydia, who’s by the tree, judging all of Stiles’ embarrassing second grade ornaments with his picture of them.

Danny hugs them all lovingly and Stiles can’t help but point out the smell of Armani being extra noticeable.

Last to arrive are the remaining werewolves taking up four of the hooks on the coat rack for their leather jackets. Boyd and Erica are holding hands, smiling brighter than ever as they greet everyone inside. Isaac barely gets his foot through the door before Danny comes leaping into his arms, for the first time not worrying about the audience.

Then Derek walks through the door and Stiles’ gaze is mechanically drawn to him. Their eyes meet immediately and a beautiful smile grows on Derek’s lips. Stiles feels himself smiling back while a warm feeling spreads across his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” the Alpha greets.

“Merry Christmas,” Stiles mumbles back. Derek’s eyes remain glued to him for a bit before turning his attention to the rest of the pack.

Jackson elbow Stiles teasingly as they all head into the living room and Stiles tells him to shut up even though he can feel his cheeks burning and a grin stretch across his lips.

-

Stiles has no clue how they manage to fit around the dinner table, but he’s thrilled that they do. The house is filled with warmth and laughter as they dig into all the delicious food with an atmosphere so joyful and loving that it’s impossible not to smile through every moment.

Isaac steps up and talks more than Stiles has ever heard him do, telling joke after joke and causing the sheriff to laugh until he starts coughing. Melissa claps his back, dramatically telling everyone it’s okay, she’s a doctor.

Jackson accidentally spilt some food on his girlfriend’s dress and at first, Stiles expected all hell to break loose, but she shrugged it off like everyone hadn’t been expecting World War Three and placed a kiss on Jackson’s cheek. Apparently not even Lydia Martin is immune to the fuzzy Christmas spirit.

Scott turns into a five year old again and starts throwing food across the table at Stiles, claiming that he can hit his open mouth. Despite the co-captain’s good aim, they never find out whether that’s true or not because Stiles refuses to be the target and it all turns into a childish food war.

Stiles laughs to the point where his stomach hurts.

-

Later at night when dinner is over, they all retreat back into the living room to gather around the Christmas tree with the warm, crackling fire. Werewolves and humans are filling up every couch and armchair in sight; some of them even settle for the floor. Though the room is still filled with positive energy, they seem to calm down since dinner. There’s an old movie on TV and some are watching it while others are chatting in low volume.

“Looks like my house has turned into a love shack tonight,” the sheriff smiles where he’s sitting next to Melissa on the couch.

It’s pretty hard to disagree with that because even if they’re all sitting together as a group, they’re still divided into two and two. Scott and Allison, Boyd and Erica, Danny and Isaac, Jackson and Lydia.

Stiles is sitting leaning against Derek’s side in one of the couches, feeling confident despite the pack being well aware of what’s going on. He scoffs along with the others at his dad’s words, feeling his cheeks flush slightly and dips his head into the curve of Derek’s neck. It’s warm and comfortable and he just doesn’t ever wanna move.

Next thing he knows, there’s a kick on his leg and he’s snapping his eyes open. He blinks tiredly while lifting his head, asking himself when he’d dozed off. Scott is standing over him with an amused expression, kicking him again.

“Come on, sleeping beauty. I’m about to kick your ass in Mario Kart.”

Stiles mumbles something insignificant while shifting into a seated position, feeling a little bit embarrassed for actually falling asleep on Derek’s shoulder.

“You say that every year,” he reminds him before yawning.

“It’s been a special year, don’t you think?” Scott remarks with a challenging smirk, kicking him one last time before moving to set up the Xbox. “Come on!”

Stiles sighs in defeat, figuring video games would be a good idea to keep himself awake.

He turns to look at Derek still sitting calmly at his side. He doesn’t seem the slightest bothered by Stiles taking a nap and using him as a pillow. In fact, Stiles realizes he’s got his arm slung over the back of the couch, as if holding around Stiles’ shoulders. Suddenly he kind of wishes he hadn’t woken up.

“Go,” Derek encourages with a nudge and Stiles realizes he might’ve unconsciously been seeking his permission to move.

He flashes a weak smile before getting to his feet and following Scott.

-

A few hours later, after Scott has been beaten in the resident’s every video game, the pack starts to dissipate from the room. Jackson grabs Lydia’s hand and goes off to find a more private corner of the house and just a little while later, Boyd and Erica do the exact same thing. Stiles has no idea what’s going on until he catches Danny grabbing the box he bought with him before calling out to Isaac.

Secret Santa. Stiles feels the excitement stir in his gut.

He and Scott are still sitting on the floor, clenching the controllers, until Allison comes knocking on her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes to Stiles. “Can I borrow him for a minute?”

“I was done with him anyway,” Stiles reassures. “He’s all yours.”

Scott gives him an affectionate bump on the shoulder before going with Allison.

Sighing, he gets up from the floor and only to discovers he’s alone in the room. His dad and Melissa are in the kitchen and the couch where he and Derek had sat next to the tree was empty. Even though he’d lost track of time, he’s actually surprised he didn’t notice him leave.

He sticks his head into the kitchen where his dad and Melissa are in a brief conversation.

“Have you seen Derek?” He asks, feeling surprisingly unabashed.

Melissa smiles sweetly at him while his dad pretends to put on his thinking cap.

“Older handsome fellow?” Stiles gives him a tired glare and the sheriff smiles softly. “He’s on the porch, kiddo.”

Stiles gives them a curt smile in thanks before swirling around and heading for the front door. He digs into his pocket and his heartbeat speeds up a little when his hand closes around the little package. He inhales a sharp breath when clenching the door handle, letting one final thought run through his head before stepping outside.

This is it.

His dad had hung up more Christmas lights on the roof of the porch on the front of the house, which he’d thankfully got working soon after Derek left last night. He stands looking at them at the far end when Stiles approaches. He knows the werewolf is well aware of his presence, despite him moving over the porch in his socks without a sound.

“Sneaking off, are you?”

Derek turns to face him, the corner of his lip twitching into a half smile. “Isn’t that what everyone else is doing?” He points out, cocking an eyebrow.

Stiles shrugs lightly, takes one last step before coming to a stop barely two feet from Derek. “Apparently everyone seems to have known their Secret Santa beforehand,” he says. “Except me.”

“And me.”

“Well, that makes things kind of obvious, doesn’t it?” Stiles huffs as his heart jumps, both thrilled and terrified by the thought of Derek being the one finding him a gift.

He’s not patient enough to wait any longer, so he shoves his hand down his pocket to pull out the package and presents it proudly to Derek. The man chuckles softly at Stiles’ eagerness before taking it.

Once free from its wrapping, Derek holds the necklace in the palm of his hand, eyes examining the wolf shaped pendant. Stiles can’t tell if his silent reaction is a good or bad one.

“I found it when Lydia dragged me into a jewelry store,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “And… I don’t know. I guess it reminded me of you?” Derek’s eyes lingers on the wolf in silver for a little bit longer before looking up to meet Stiles’ eyes. “I was going to make a bad collar joke…”

“Please don’t,” Derek begs, but once again there’s that fondness in his voice and Stiles can’t help but crack a smile.

“Are you going to put it on?”

Derek glance back down to the pendant in his hand before handing it to Stiles. “You do it,” he says steadily.

Stiles makes one of his gaping fish impressions before swallowing his surprise.

He accepts the chain from Derek’s hand, taking one step forward to reach around his neck. Derek remains perfectly still, calmly watching Stiles’ face as the chain closes around his throat and the pendant comes to hang on his chest. Stiles steps back once it’s in place, smiling proudly at the sight. Derek looks even better in it than he’d hoped.

“You don’t have anything for me, do you?” He teases after a short silence.

“Actually, I do,” Derek declares and Stiles feels the childish excitement coming back to life. He doesn’t move to pull out a box somewhere, but instead slips out of his jacket and takes a step closer to wrap it around Stiles’ shoulders.

It takes a while before he gets it.

“You’re giving me your leather jacket?” He asks doubtingly, to which Derek simply nods. “But… that’s basically part of your anatomy.”

Derek chuckles softly, letting his hands fall to his sides and Stiles immediately misses the weight on his shoulders. “You’ve practically used it more than me lately,” he teases. “Besides…” His voice grows deeper and more serious. “It already smells like you.”

Stiles swallows as his heartbeat speeds up even further at that clarification. He’s left speechless for a while before he’s recollected himself.

“You’re sure this wasn’t a last-minute thing? It wasn’t wrapped in.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t have any wrapping paper,” he admits to which Stiles rolls his eyes and smiles. “But if you insist,” Derek continues, making a move toward the door. “I’m sure I can–”

Stiles wraps a hand around his wrist before he can move away and the feeling of Derek’s warm skin makes Stiles’ heart skip a beat.  He looks into Derek’s eyes, only inches away from him now, and he can feel Derek’s racing pulse in the vein of his wrist, matching his own.

They stay like that for a moment, just studying each other’s faces while acknowledging one another’s fast beating heart. Stiles’ breath turns unsteady and when he shudders, he’s not sure if it’s because of the cold or by being so close to Derek.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” He murmurs.

Derek breathes out and Stiles can feel the hot air on his face. “I wanted to do this without the others watching,” he says softly. “They’ve done that enough already.”

“Do what?” Stiles breathes.

Derek blinks slowly and Stiles can see the Christmas lights reflect in his eyes. God, he’s so… beautiful, no matter how corny it sounds.

“This,” Derek whispers before leaning in to capture Stiles’ lips in a firm kiss.

Stiles breathes in heavily through his nose when their lips touch, like he’s gasping for air. He’s not shocked by the kiss because he himself has been starving for it, which is why the sound of his throbbing heart fills his ears and he’s unable to hear the soft moan that escapes him. Derek reaches up to carefully cup Stiles’ face in his hands, brushing his cheekbone with his thumb. Stiles shivers at how gentle his every move is, as if he fears Stiles will move away if he goes too fast.

Happiness and success explodes inside him and soon he’s unable to stop himself from chuckling in pure bliss as the kiss gets interrupted. Derek doesn’t seem upset about him pulling away. This is his first kiss after all and Stiles is glad he knows that. Derek makes sure they remain close, however, resting his forehead on Stiles’ and brushing their noses together in the lightest of Eskimo kisses. He’s smiling too and the spark in his eyes aren’t caused by a reflection this time.

-

Toward midnight, Stiles manages to drag the whole pack outside to the field near his house.

“What are we doing here?” Derek asks from behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around his waist and steadying his chin on his shoulder.

Stiles hasn’t been able to stop smiling for the whole past hour. He turns his head to the side to brush his nose against Derek’s cheek. “The Christmas Howl.”

“The what?” Derek frowns.

“You told me about it, remember? Your pack used to howl by midnight every Christmas Eve.”

Derek blinks and turns his head further toward him. “You named it The Christmas Howl?”

“It needed a name,” Stiles defends.

Derek chuckles into the curve of his neck. “I like it.”

Stiles feels his heart still beating steady and hard against his ribs when he turns to look at the remaining pack members spread across the field.

“You guys ready?”

“Yes!” 

“Wait,” Derek says confused. “You’re going to howl?”

“Dude, I can howl,” Stiles assures.

Derek gives him a playful nudge with his nose before straightening his back and lifting his head to the sky to let out a loud, clear howl. The rest of the wolves join in and Stiles get chills by how powerful it sounds. After a while he throws his own head back and tries to mimic a howling wolf, but ends up sounding like a deranged puppy. Derek eventually drops his head to laugh at him.

“That was the cutest howl I’ve ever heard,” he teases. Stiles doesn’t mind.

He reaches up to curl his hands inside Derek’s hair and pull him into another kiss, which is a lot more confident than their first one. Derek’s moan reverberates throughout Stiles’ body and he smiles into the kiss.

-

“Stiles?”

Derek sounds surprised, but all Stiles can make out in the dark is a tall shadow climbing through his window. He gets up from where he’s been sitting on the edge of his bed, dropping the phone on the covers as he walks over to the werewolf.

“Hey,” he says, mainly to acknowledge his position in the dark room, despite Derek’s improved senses.

The only light source is the moon glowing outside the window which only provide enough light for Stiles to make out Derek’s silhouette. His head moves and Stiles guesses he’s looking at him.

“Why is everything pitch black?” Derek asks, addressing the real elephant in the room.

“Short version: my dad was going to plug in the Christmas tree’s light bulbs and the whole house’s power went out.”

Though he can’t see anything, Stiles swears Derek cocks an eyebrow at that.

“And the long version?”

“There is none,” Stiles admits.

Derek huffs and Stiles can’t help but smile. The silence that follows is not as tense as it used to be.

“So why did you ask me to come over?” Derek rumbles after a while.

Stiles swallows, still not sure how well Derek can see him in the dark. He never asked Scott if being a werewolf included night vision.

“Because I wanted to talk to you. Before tomorrow.”

There’s another pause in which – judging by the following disbelief in his voice – Derek did something with his eyebrows.

“And your dad just happens to make all the lights in your house go out tonight?”

“Dude, that was totally coincidental!” Stiles insists, even though he knows Derek is just teasing. He sighs, rolling his eyes despite no one being able to see it. “Part of me is glad he messed up though,” he mumbles. “This would go down a lot differently if I’d be able to see you.”

Derek has no response to that; Stiles wasn’t really expecting one, anyway.

He steps back a little, tries to give them some distance, but Derek follows him into the center of the room. His heart is beating faster than it did before the Alpha showed up, but neither of them should find that surprising by now. That’s probably why he’d sent that text, asking Derek to come over, because no matter how things have been building up between them this final week before Christmas, there were some things he wanted to know before taking the final step.

Derek doesn’t ask, the silence does it for him.

“So,” Stiles starts. “If there’s one thing I learned from that Actual Love movie–”

“Love Actually,” Derek corrects.

“Whatever. If I learned one thing from it, it’s that Christmas is the time to be honest.”

More silence. Stiles knows it’s just Derek’s way of wanting him to elaborate. He breathes in deep.

“Look, there are some things I want to know,” he explains slowly. He shoves his restless hands down the pockets of his sweatpants and lets out a ragged breath, trying to ease himself up. Derek, as far as Stiles can tell, remains immobile. “I want to ask you some questions and I need you to answer truthfully.”

“Is this some kind of truthful game?” Derek asks.

“Yes,” Stiles replies simply and receives a snort in reply. “And don’t use your superpowers to listen to my heartbeat or any of that crap, okay? It’s unfair, and you know I can’t tell if you’re cheating.”

There’s a movement which Stiles interprets as a nod.

“I won’t.”

Stiles smiles to himself, slightly overwhelmed by how easily Derek’s agreeing to this. And while the point of this was indeed serious, he still can’t help himself when trying to come up with the first question and blurts out, “What do I smell like?”

“Stiles!”

“Oh, come on!” Stiles pleads. “I’ve always wondered.”

Derek sighs and the contour of him moves back a few steps. Stiles’ eyes have begun to adjust by now to the dim darkness in the room and he can see Derek slouching against his desk.

“You don’t smell like anything,” he explains quietly after a moment. So quietly Stiles has to strain to hear him. “Just… you. Like any other person, you’ve got your own scent. You don’t need an improved sense of smell to know that.”

And Stiles does know that. All those times within the last couple days when he’d been close to Derek, he’d felt it. Not the smell of his clothes or aftershave or anything like that, but just the smell of Derek himself.

He swallows hard. “But you can pick up on feelings too, right?”

“Yes,” Derek murmurs.

“Are you doing it right now?” Stiles holds his breath in anticipation. He’s shaking, sweating; how attractive right?

There’s a pause. “I’m trying not to.”

For a while, all Stiles can hear is his own breathing and the throbbing of his heart. He blinks rapidly, hoping for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light faster. He can make out Derek’s vague form; the leather of his jacket and the brightness of his eyes glinting in the darkness.

The sight and realization of the situation makes his heart skip a beat and even if Derek said he’d try not to use his advantage tonight, Stiles can bet his feelings are filling up the room like the amount of trash littering a cinema.

He’s not sure when – or how – it happened, he just knows it did. These last few weeks, with the pack growing closer and Christmas approaching, he’d developed a longing. For Derek. His touch, the heavy, familiar weight of his eyes on Stiles, his warm presence, seeing him laugh. He’d been confused at first, not knowing what was really happening. But he’s not doubting anymore.

He’s in love with Derek Hale and he’s pretty sure the man in front of him knows that. Which is why he hopes Derek understands his next question.

“Did you love Kate?”

Derek had never told the whole story, but Stiles had figured it all out. Not only by scanning through his dad’s reports with Harris connecting Kate to the Hale fire or how she’d been the one tracking down the pack, but also the look on Derek’s face whenever her name was mentioned. He didn’t only look angry or revengeful, but also hurt. Broken and betrayed, which is the state he’d been in for as long as Stiles has known him. Until recently.

Derek had always advised Scott to stay away from Allison and Stiles hadn’t looked into it before, but when he thought about it, it all made sense. Like the last puzzle piece falling into place; only this puzzle was frayed and burned at the edges, wearing thin. Practically too damaged to fix, but Stiles will help smooth out the edges.

Derek had tried preventing history from repeating itself. Even after Kate’s death and now Gerard’s disappearance, with things returning to normal, Derek had needed more time to consider Allison as part of the pack than any of the others.

The question is left hanging in the air enough time to make Stiles jumpy, thinking it might’ve been a bad choice.

“I thought I did,” finally comes the reply and Stiles can’t help but think Derek sounds as if he’d been expecting this question. “But… that wasn’t love. I never experienced it before, so I couldn’t tell love and flat out attraction apart. They’re two very different things.”

“How can you be so sure?” Stiles asks quietly.

Derek tilts his head up a little and Stiles is 98% certain he’s looking straight at him.

“Because now I know the difference.”

There’s a short moment of silence before Stiles opens his mouth again, but Derek speaks first.

“My turn.”

Stiles scoffs weakly, but agrees. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Who was your first kiss?”

Stiles is caught off guard by the bluntly asked question, gaping like a fish for a while before swallowing. Part of his mind immediately starts working on a lie, but he knows Derek deserves nothing but the truth. Especially after what he just told him.

“No one,” he realizes how pathetic that sounds and laughs miserably. “I mean, no one could handle all of me anyway, you know?” He gestures lamely to himself.

“What?” Derek asks, sounding as if he’s misunderstanding.

“I’ve never been kissed,” Stiles clarifies with a shrug. “What a loser, huh?”

Derek remains perfectly quiet for a while before saying, “No.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. His heart is racing, slamming against his ribs almost painfully. He’s staring toward Derek’s shape, now fairly visible to his eyes while holding his breath. Nothing happens for a long time, though Stiles is unable to tell seconds and minutes apart.

Eventually Derek abandons the desk he’s been leaning against, straightening his back and walking up to Stiles who remains perfectly still.

“Here,” he breathes as he comes to a stop. Stiles can see his jaw moving in the faint moonlight now. “Feel my heart.”

Stiles lets out a ragged breath. “Why?”

“Because I can hear yours,” Derek replies calmly. “And you wanted things to be fair.”

It takes a few seconds before Stiles moves, lifting his right hand from the bottom of his pocket to Derek’s chest. He places it right above Derek’s heart, his eyes glued to his hand. Both of them inhale sharply at the contact and Stiles can feel the skip of Derek’s heart right underneath his palm. A shaky breath escapes his lips in surprised, marvelous awe.

He watches his hand move from the rise and fall of Derek’s chest for some time before looking directly into Derek’s eyes.

He realizes then how close they’re standing, and the moment their gazes meet, both their hearts jolt. Stiles can’t help but let out a soft chuckle and he can see a smile spreading across Derek’s lips, too.

It’s so surreal to feel Derek’s heart throbbing just as hard as his own does, to feel it beating right in the palm of his hand.

-

“Derek, please!”

“Stiles. I said no.”

“But I’m freezing my butt off here!”

“I’ll just… turn up the heat.”

“Oh, I see. Nothing says “I care” quite like the push of a button.”

Derek glares at Stiles over his shoulder, his finger frozen mid-air, and lets out a jaded sigh. 

“If I do this, will you let me skip on Christmas Carols night?” Derek asks with a sullen tone.

“Aw, man, I’ve been looking forward to that for ages!” Stiles whimpers, pouting a little, no doubt in hopes to make Derek feel guilty. 

Unfortunately for him, it fails miserably. Derek keeps staring at him impassively, making it very clear he is not going to budge. Stiles sighs again and leans against the fireplace, folding his arms across his chest in defeat. 

“Fine. I’ve been working on my high C for months, but I guess no one cares about that,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Get over it, Pavarotti,” Derek snickers from across the living room. “You’re finally getting your fire. Rejoice!”

Stiles gives him the cold shoulder for a second, but rapidly cracks up into a silly grin as Derek makes his way toward the fireplace and crouches down to grab the tools. After all, Stiles has been pestering him all night to light a fire, so he should be feeling proud to finally get Derek to grant his demand. 

“And besides, you’re finally getting to use all the firewood you murdered the other day! It’s a win-win,” Stiles remarks. He takes a step back allowing Derek room to work his magic on building a fire.

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m pretty sure this puppy here is the only thing that has yet to be deflowered in this house anyway,” Derek says, nodding at the shiny newly-refurbished fireplace. “Well, maybe not the ONLY thing…” he ventures with a sly smile, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

“Not fair!” Stiles bellows, giving Derek a small kick on the foot, before shuffling over to the nearby armchair to plop down and blush in silence.

Derek can’t help but burst into laughter, and somehow it seems to relax the atmosphere considerably. The bright resonance of his laugh sounds so foreign to his own ears and even though this reckoning feels bittersweet, he can’t help but feel warmth and gratitude too, all directed at Stiles.

“That should do it!” Derek exclaims, throwing one last log into the dancing flames. “What do you think?” he asks, grunting as he gets up and steps back to sprawl out on the couch.

“It’s… beautiful,” Stiles murmurs with a spreading smile. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

For a long while, no more words are spoken. A comfortable silence settles in, only disrupted by the crackles of the fire burning strong inside the hearth, casting quivering shadows all over the dimly lit room. Derek’s eyes stay fixed on the flames, full of concern and anxiety, because the last time fire was burning under this roof, it had destroyed everything he held most dear. But then he flashes back to the night at the Stilinski house, when Stiles had so seamlessly managed to allay his most vicious fears. 

“Come here,” Derek whispers. 

He hears Stiles’ heart skip a beat, but remains immobile as the boy slowly crawls his way to his side and sits cross-legged on the couch. Derek turns his head toward him, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Closer.”

Stiles gapes at him and swallows hard. He looks unsettled, but he obliges, shifting closer until his shoulder collides with Derek’s chest. The instant their bodies touch, Derek feels a wave of serenity sweep through his flesh, washing away all traces of angst he might have felt a second ago. Stiles huffs amusedly. 

“See? It’s not that hard. You’re already doing so much better than last time,” he smiles, nudging Derek’s ribs tenderly. He must have felt Derek relax under his touch,because his heartbeat is started to slow down too, creating a virtuous circle that Derek embarks on gladly. 

“It’s all thanks to you. You… soothe me,” he admits and this simple thought makes the corners of his lips curl into a smile.

“Glad I can help,” Stiles replies with a contained grin, but Derek can feel he’s really beaming inside.

As the next few minutes go by, Derek inadvertedly slouches down against Stiles’ side, as the relaxed atmosphere turns into a torpid one; progressively, he sinks further down, until his head comes to rest on Stiles’ shoulder, without either of them thinking twice about it. Somehow, it just feels right.

For a moment, Derek’s eyes divert from the golden flames and stumble upon Stiles’ hand laid palm-down on his thigh. He reaches out carefully, brushing the back of Stiles’ hand with his fingertips, causing the both of them to unconsciously hold their breaths. Derek starts tracing the veins with his forefinger and this subtle touch sends shivers down his spine. 

“You planned this all along, didn’t you? The cozy night in, the fire… you just wanted to get all up on this,” Derek scoffs sloppily, feeling his eyelids getting heavy. 

-

Stiles hears the approaching footsteps in the snow behind him before Derek’s voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Your dad said you’d be here.”

He turns around with his hands still stowed into his pockets, smiling softly at Derek who walks across the deserted field toward him.

“You know, it’s pretty impressive; the amount of times you’ve come to visit me lately.”

Derek huffs and shakes his head, closing the distance between them and Stiles stands still, waiting. He’d come out here to clear his head, something he hadn’t done in quite some time. There hadn’t been much to ponder about until these recent weeks.

“Why didn’t you just sniff me out?” He asks once Derek stops in front of him, doubting he’ll ever get used to the idea of the Alpha and his dad communicating. “Unable to catch my scent in this cold?”

“I can always catch your scent,” Derek responds in a steady voice. Then his lips pulls up in a weak smirk. “But it’s more polite to ask.”

“Oh, you’re learning,” Stiles teases. “Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

He expects Derek to cock an eyebrow; glare, snort, roll his eyes, all of the above. Instead his lips cracks up in a playful grin before he reaches down to swiftly grab a handful snow to throw at Stiles. He gasps more at the action than the actual impact, jumping backwards even though it’s too late to get away.

“Dude, I’m not even wearing my jacket!” Stiles exclaims, not hesitating to splash some snow in Derek’s direction for revenge.

“I’ve heard that a lot lately,” Derek smiles.

Somehow they end up having a minor snowball fight, just the two of them, until Stiles’ clothes are soaked in snow and he turns to flee further into the field. He doesn’t get very far until Derek catches up with him and grab his sides, probably with the intention to stop him, but instead they both fall over and end up sitting in the snow.

Stiles is laughing, trying to catch his breath. Behind him he can hear Derek chuckle as well and it makes his stomach twist, making it even harder to relax.

Once they go quiet, the whole plain falls into silence. Stiles watches the white smoke as he breathes out, intensively listening to Derek’s every move behind his back.

He’s not sure exactly how long they sit frozen like that before he feels Derek’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him back against his chest. Stiles doesn’t dare breathe, not until the back of his head is resting against Derek’s collarbone. His heart is racing again, but he’s starting to get used to it in the presence of this specific werewolf.

When Stiles finally does manage to relax against the solid body supporting him a few moments later, he decide to break the silence.

“So what are you doing here?” He murmurs, too afraid to talk loud in case he ruins the moment.

Derek moves his head a bit to brush his chin over Stiles’ short hair and he can’t help but smile at the scraping sound the stubble makes.

“I never thanked you,” he rumbles. “For dragging me back into all this Christmas business. I’ve been avoiding it for so long and then you came and stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Once again there’s something sweet in the accusation and Stiles chuckles in response. He lets another quiet moment pass by while biting his lip.

“Did it use to be different? With your family, I mean?” He asks carefully.

“If you’re asking whether we had some kind of ritual including eating raw meat or praying to the wolf gods, then no.”

Derek’s voice is light and it’s not at all what Stiles expected it to be. He scoffs at Derek’s teasing and the man sighs before becoming more serious.                                                                                                                                 

“We weren’t  too different from any other family, I suppose. Except for the howling.”

“Howling?” Stiles repeats.

“Yeah, howling.” And he actually shudders at Derek’s way of pronouncing the word. “It’s something we did every Christmas Eve by midnight. Howled, the whole pack united.” Stiles can both feel and hear Derek sigh behind him. “It was… special. But I haven’t done it in years. Laura and I gave it up because it wasn’t the same with only the two of us.”

Stiles lets a minute pass before he ventures.

“Was it an instinct?”

“Not at all,” Derek replies. “There was the power thing, of course; we’re stronger in multiple numbers. But for us it was a family thing. Kind of a tradition, I guess.”

Stiles nods in understanding, head still resting against Derek’s front. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to say anything in conclusion to the topic, but Derek seems to be fine with silence for now.

Another moment goes by with them sitting wrapped up on the ground, breathing the same air together. Their clothes are still wet and cold from the snow  but none of them seem to pay much attention to it.

Then Derek lowers his head a little, bringing his mouth closer to Stiles’ ear.

“Did you intentionally forget your jacket?” He asks in a murmur and Stiles can feel the smile on his lips.

He doesn’t even try to contain the smirk spreading across his face.

“Maybe.”

Maybe he’d come out here alone, hoping for Derek to show up like he had.

-

Stiles nearly flinches at his dad tapping him on the shoulder.

He’d been staring out the kitchen window for God knows how long, as if the whirling flakes outside would provide peace to his unsettled mind.

He’s got a lot on his mind these days and he should’ve seen his dad’s confrontation coming.

“Daydreaming?” The sheriff places his empty cup on the table and sits down across from him.

He’s dressed in a simple shirt because it’s morning and he hasn’t put his jacket on yet.

“Not exactly,” Stiles replies, leaning forward to fold his arms on the table and rest his chin on top of them. “Is there such a thing as daymares?”

“That bad, huh?” His forehead wrinkles in empathy.

Stiles lifts and sinks his shoulders in a weird looking shrug as Derek’s face appears before his eyes. It feels almost weird to not be surrounded by people able to read his every emotion like a newspaper.

“I just… have a lot on my mind,” he finally mumbles, taking the opportunity to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. “Nothing life-threatening.” At least he hoped it wasn’t.

His dad nods, thumb drumming on the cup in his hand for a moment.

“So what’s up?” Stiles asks. He leans back to slouch down in his chair, all-too keen on changing the subject.

The sheriff sighs and Stiles realize why he came in here in the first place; he’s got something to say.

“Well, I… I felt like I should talk to you,” he starts. “About Melissa.”

“Huh,” says Stiles.

It doesn’t come as a surprise; he’s been waiting for this to happen. And not in a tell-me-something-I-don’t-know way, but in a finally-it’s-happening-please-tell-me-more way.

“You know we’ve been friends for a long time now and we practically raised you and Scott together the last couple years… or maybe not raised…,” Stiles huffs. “You know, we’ve been two broken families, looking out for each other. Sometimes I’d just like to see all four of us as… one family.”

Stiles stays quiet for a time before breathing out heavily.

“You’re trying to tell me you’re dating, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know if that’s the word to use in my age,” his dad scoffs a bit nervously. “But… yeah.” His face turns soft and serious. “I really care about her, Stiles.”

He sounds insecure, and Stiles gets that. He’s afraid how Stiles is going to react to this kind of news. And given a few years back, Stiles isn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, with the memory and loss of his own mother too fresh and unhealed. But he is now.

“I know you do,” he says, quiet but reassuring. The look of relief on his father’s face makes a smile tug at his own lips. “I’m happy for you guys, dad, of course I am. Scott and I are practically brothers anyway.”

His dad chuckles and nods in agreement.

But then he looks like another thought had come to mind and it’s obvious there’s more he wants to say.

Stiles waits patiently.

“You’re spending a lot of time with the pack these days,” he begins. “Which is good because I know I work a lot and I hate for you to be all alone.” He smiles weakly. “I know they mean a lot to you. Some more than others…,” Stiles swallows as his heart jolts a little. “But you all care for one another. You guys have practically become your own little family… haven’t you?”

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to nod. Most of them – apart from the always popular Jackson trio – were outcasts before Derek brought them all together. Whether it was intentional or not, they had finally begun to rely on each other, trust each other, until the word ‘friends’ had felt like the only proper way to address one another. And they really were like a family, even if Derek must be the worst dad in history.

“Which is why,” his dad continues, “I’m really looking forward to having everyone gathered around the dinner table at Christmas.”

Stiles cracks up in a smile, not even trying to hide his joy because even if his dad had suggested him inviting them all over for Christmas dinner, it had felt as if he only did it to be polite and maybe try to get used to the crazy that was his son’s life. Until now.

“Me too,” he grins, knowing it was true despite his inner confusion concerning his feelings for Derek.

He still wanted nothing more than to have him by his side on the couch, surrounded by the rest of the wolves.

The sheriff remains seated with a beaming smile a moment longer before clearing his throat.

“Right. So, I’ve got to get to work,” he excuses himself from the table and Stiles nods in understanding. His dad claps him on the shoulder as he walks by and out the kitchen.

Almost immediately, Stiles digs the phone out of his pocket and sends a text to Scott.

That only took 3 years.

They’ve both been waiting for this to happen. Not all this time, but for the last three years or so they’d hoped for it, knowing their parents made a great team and had been too lonely for too long.

Did he finally tell you?

Stiles frowns at Scott’s text, mouthing a silent ‘what the hell’ to himself while typing back.

You knew?

Scott replies almost at once.

Werewolf.

Stiles snorts and shakes his head.

I hate you.

But he’s smiling and it only gets worse when Scott answers:

-

“Stiles, that’s too much flour!”

“There is no such thing as too much flour!” Stiles insist, ignoring Lydia’s stare of horror as he lets another handful of white powder snow down on the thick dough Derek is busy rolling out.

“I’m pretty sure they aren’t supposed to be white though,” the Alpha point outs, cocking one eyebrow.

“Less talk, more roll,” Stiles orders, which is probably the first time he’s ever asked Mr. Silence to shut up.

Not that it was very quiet around the table. Bringing the pack together to do something simple as baking could get quite loud. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure he and Derek were the ones working the hardest of them all. If not counting Lydia ordering everyone around like Coach in the middle of a game, that is.

Erica and Boyd are sitting in a corner eating candy and small talking as if they’re in their own little world. Scott and Jackson had both nudged Isaac to sit on the chair next to Danny so intensively that their secret job as matchmakers was made extremely obvious. Stiles almost felt sorry for the guy, but he looks pretty happy helping Danny with the gingerbread house. Allison and Scott are working on a second one, though they seem to be more focused on each other than the actual job at hand. Jackson is rolling out his own piece of dough and sighing helplessly every five minutes because he’s still allergic to people having too much fun.

“Dude, it’s not even that hard,” Stiles comments when Derek seems to have trouble rolling the dough thin enough. “I can do it,” he offers, reaching down from where he’s standing to take the rolling pin out of Derek’s grip. “I’m on a roll anyway. Get it?”

Derek scoffs and bats Stiles’ hands away, pushing him further back with his shoulder. “I got it,” he says with obvious amusement in his voice. “Go wash your hands or something. You look like a snowman.”

Stiles chuckles and gives up the fight, leaning back again with a hand on Derek’s shoulder to support himself. He’s not used to being able to touch Derek like this, without really needing too, but from what had seemed like a wink from Derek yesterday, Stiles had took a chance and it clearly paid off. Derek didn’t have a problem whatsoever with them invading each other’s personal spaces today.

“These ordinary shapes are so boring,” Stiles mutters, leaning over Derek’s shoulder and feeling confidence knowing the werewolf can take his weight. “I want to make my own forms.”

“Yeah, I used to do that, ” Jackson flashed a sarcastic grin his way before dropping it entirely, replacing it with a judging look. “When I was five.”

Stiles sends him a glare, but the tug at the corner of Derek’s mouth is enough for him not to spit back at Jackson. He rolls his eyes instead of commenting and focuses on his and Derek’s professional baking. Various shapes comes to mind, a lot more fun and challenging to do than the regular gingerbread men.

“I want to make a triskele,” he mumbles thoughtfully. 

“Perfect,” Jackson encourages, the sarcasm ringing thick in his voice. “Why don’t you ask Derek to take off his shirt and model for you?”

They all chuckle at that, even Stiles, though he can feel himself blush when trying to shrug it off.

He reaches for a knife and tries to focus as he starts drawing on the thin layer of dough. Derek lays the roller pin aside, but Stiles notices his eyes are following Stiles’ hands, as if he’s curious of how well he manages to cut out the shape, that Stiles obviously knows what the tattoo on his shoulder blades looks like.

Yeah, Stiles knows exactly what it looks like.

 -

Quite some time later there are at least two baking sheets filled to the brim with gingerbread cookies in various shapes – whereas one of them is a triskele. It belongs to the lighter half of them, making it easy to tell which cookies are Stiles and Derek’s.

Unsurprisingly, Scott and Allison never managed to get their gingerbread house done, but most of the pack members think they’ve had enough baking for one day.

Lydia looks at the half-finished house with a disgusted frown. “There’s no way I’m joining in on this mess,” she says, and the morale is ruined.

“I’m out,” Derek calls out, dropping his lump of dough on the table and walking out of the kitchen. The rest follow their alpha dutifully.

“I need to defend my title as snowman,” Stiles says. “We’re having a snow ball fight.”

“Don’t forget your jacket,” Derek reminds him when slipping out the door.

“Come on, I need to kick your ass to feel manly again,” Jackson jokes with a light eye roll, bumping his shoulder against Danny’s.

Danny glances at Isaac, still completely focused on making something out of the dough in his hands. “I think I need to lend Isaac some help,” he teases as Isaac tips over the bag of flour.

“Suit yourself,” Jackson smirks like the smug bastard he is before following the rest of the pack.

“Don’t worry,” Danny murmurs. Isaac looks up from where he’s trying to gather up the flour. “We’ll make a gingerbread house if we so have to stay here all night.”

Isaac rewards him with a small smile.

He’s so adorable. Danny knows that Isaac could probably rip him in half without breaking a sweat, but he just can’t help it; Isaac is exactly his type.

“Come on, let’s look over the template again,” he says, trying to halt the direction his thoughts are taking. Turns out that wasn’t the brightest idea since Isaac shuffles over to him, trying to rid his sweatshirt of flour as he walks.

“Okay,” Isaac says.

Danny can feel him next to him, this pleasantly bright presence all along his side, and fuck that’s worse.

They look down at the template.

“Okay,” Danny parrots. “Let’s start from scratch. I don’t know about you, but I am not going to eat those walls.” He points to where Scott and Allison’s pathetic attempt at gingerbread walls for their house sit and shudders at the thought. He’s not quite sure how they managed to fail at that.

“Let’s go,” Isaac enthusiastically cheers and it just…

Danny can’t handle this anymore.

Isaac’s cheek is warm and soft under his lips as he gives him a chaste peck, praying to god that he doesn’t scare him away.

Danny darts backward, giving Isaac a worried look.

Isaac stares at him, wide eyed, raising his hand to his cheek and getting flour smeared all over it in the process before giving Danny a huge grin. ”Finally,” he laughs, grabbing Danny by his tee and pulling him closer.

“Took you long enough.” Danny’s head swivels around to catch Jackson’s annoying as fuck smirk as he leans against the door frame. “Not very hygienic though, guys. Get a room.”

Jackson laughs as he catches the lump of dough Danny launches at him for ruining the moment.

-

It’s late and Lydia won’t stop complain about how they should’ve done this sooner, but on December 19th they finally bring the Christmas tree into the Hale house’s living room to dress it up with the newly bought decorations.

Erica had bought red, yellow and blue tinsel to wrap around it, as a joke for the werewolves’ different eye colors. Jackson rolls his eyes at the sight of it and Scott bursts out laughing, falling off his chair in the process.

There are baubles and other hanging decorations, as well as Christmas lights in various different colors, because Lydia is still set on her quest to make the house appear more colorful.

“Got to make up for our Alpha’s lack of personality, don’t we?” She says with a shrug while thoughtfully hanging baubles on every third twig. “Honestly, the only color he owns is his eyes whenever he gets bossy.”

Said Alpha walks across the room and pretends he doesn’t hear her.

Once all the decorations are in place, the pack withdraws to the kitchen to have some hot chocolate.

The tree isn’t very big but Stiles still has to pull up a chair to reach the top to get the star in place. He’s a little too thoughtful when sticking it on top, however, and loses his balance when letting go of the tree.

He doesn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that the hands firmly gripping his hips to prevent him from falling belong to Derek.

A weak smile stretches across his lips as he regains his footing and hops off the chair, feeling himself blush and hoping that the rest of the pack are too occupied to hear his erratic heartbeat.

“Thanks,” he says when the hands let go of him, turning around.

Derek smiles warmly at him and Stiles feels butterflies dance in his stomach.

“Come on,” Derek softly says, tilting his head back toward the kitchen where the others already seem to be discussing the lack of cookies in the house.

He puts a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades as they enter the room, pushing him gently toward the table where the pack has gathered. It’s the most unnecessary touch, something only Stiles has accounted for in the past, and it takes Stiles a while to realize what it really is.

-

It’s not Derek who orders the pack to gather in the Hale House living room the 17th night of December, but rather Boyd.

According to him, it isn’t a real Christmas unless you watch a bunch of classical Christmas movies and eat buckets of popcorn. Needless to say, Erica and Lydia had agreed wholeheartedly with the idea which left the others with no choice but to give in.

It’s dark outside by the time they all manage to squeeze onto the couch.

Lydia pulls out a set of candles to place on the table from her bag and judging by Jackson’s eye roll and the amused smirk he gives her, it’s probably not the first time she’s taken control of the mood like that.

Jackson’s seated in the right corner of the couch, slouching back with his arm on the side and the other slung over Lydia’s shoulders. She’s comfortably leaning against him, elbow on his thigh and hand resting on his knee, while her other hand absently plays with her hair, eyes fixated on the screen.

Next to her is Allison; legs folded beneath her and back arched as she leans forward. She’s running her fingers through Scott’s dark locks who’s sitting on the floor in front of her, head tipped back into his girlfriend’s lap. He watches the movie through half lidded gaze and Stiles swears that if he were a cat, he’d be purring.

On the floor closest to Scott is Boyd with Erica leaning back against his chest. He has his arms wrapped around her waist, embracing her from behind, while she traces his knuckles with her fingers. Boyd’s chin rests on her shoulder, cheeks brushing just the tiniest bit. Whether they were actually together or not – a question Stiles never got a proper answer to – they seem very comfortable with one another.

To Allison’s left are Isaac and Danny, sides pressed together all the way from their shoulders to their ankles, and Stiles – who sat on the other side of Danny – could only imagine the sexual tension the werewolves had to put up with on a daily basis. (Scott complained about it just last night.)

In the couch’s left corner is Derek. His arms and hands are resting in his lap with his elbow brushing against Stiles’ arm, which were tucked over his chest. Neither of them are wearing more than t-shirts and the skin-on-skin contact keeps Stiles’ attention from the movie more often than he’d like to admit, making it impossible to keep track of what’s happening on-screen.

Things are different between them now. Stiles isn’t sure how it happened exactly, but after the incident with a shirtless Derek furiously chopping woods in the forest yesterday, it feels like one of many walls he’d otherwise would have to climb to get to Derek has been teared apart.

No matter how close Derek had allowed them to grow the last few weeks, deep down Stiles had expected the werewolf to finally snap. Which he did and tried to deal with it by swinging an ax around like a maniac.

He knew there was something in Derek’s eyes whenever their gazes met or their hands touched and it made him happy that he’d found the Alpha when he did yesterday; before he had the chance to sink back into denial. Derek is pretty good at that in general, but Stiles doubts he could handle him doing it with something like this.

Something happened half-way through the first movie that caused everybody to laugh. A smile spreads across Stiles’ face when even Derek chuckles, the vibration of his shoulders causing their arms to slide against one another.

Stiles huffs along with the others, pretending he knew what had been going down on screen, though he had no clue.

When the first movie ends, most people on the couch have shifted positions whereas Stiles has barely moved. But neither has Derek and Stiles takes that as a good sign.

When the credits start rolling and Boyd crawls up to switch to the next movie on the list, Derek heaves a sigh and shifts to rest most of his upper arm in Stiles’ lap.

He knows all the werewolf’s in the room can hear the exact moment his heartbeat ratchets up to a ridiculously loud notch to the point where Stiles thinks Danny, who’s right beside him with his very human ears, can hear it. 

Derek doesn’t make a point of moving away, even if Stiles knows he’s well aware of the exposure to the whole pack of Stiles’ reaction to his touch.

No one says anything and by the time the second movie comes on, Stiles isn’t sure if he’s been breathing through the entire break.

He takes a moment to sink a little deeper into the couch while his arms are still crossed loosely over his chest.

Derek’s elbow is on his stomach now, skin still brushing his every time Stiles inhales.

They stay like that for the first part of the movie – which Stiles manages to be present enough to identify as Love Actually – until his muscles start itching at the lack of motion.

It feels like all eyes are on him when he carefully tips his head to the side to lean on Derek’s shoulder because it’s impossible to resist the perfect height. For a moment, he can’t even hear what the people in the movie are saying over the too-loud beating of his heart.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the screen, thinking this might have been a bad idea.

Derek doesn’t move for what feels like an entire eternity to Stiles.

The movie, the pack, everything becomes a silent background noise when Derek’s cheek eventually comes to rest on the top of his head.

Stiles lets out a deep breath as soon as he feels the weight of Derek leaning on him and he can’t recall ever feeling more relieved. A stupid smile is tugging at his lips and he’s happy Derek can’t see it.

He blinks slowly a few times, feels himself relax for the first time tonight against Derek’s side.

Though he manages to keep up with the movie after that, the reality of their situation still hits him every other minute, capturing his focus again.

Derek’s shoulder isn’t exactly soft, it’s just very… comfy. And warm, even if that’s not anything new. Stiles can’t help but snuggle further into the curve of Derek’s neck until he’s got his forehead touching the vein in his neck and can feel Derek’s steady pulse.

The second movie ends, but Stiles is dead asleep.

Jackson’s eyes sweep over the couch while he stretches his arms above his head. “Well, that was an interesting two hours,” he says lightly.

-

As beads of sweat trickle down his bare chest and his own frantic fingers ruffle through his damp hair, Derek lets out one last grunt before finally giving himself a reprieve. 

The thumping sound of his heart pumping blood through his whole body makes his knees go weak and he has only seconds to catch himself before he falls to the ground in sheer exhaustion.

The lines on his face are tense as he kneels down on the snow covered woods, dropping the heavy ax to his side with a thud and feeling his every muscle sear underneath his trembling skin. Between ragged breaths, Derek has to blink frenetically to clear his eyes of sweat as he tries to control the intense, sullen thoughts that keep trying to drag him six feet under. 

It had dawned on Derek that maybe going out into the forest to chop some more firewood would be the perfect way to release the tension that this whole Christmas extravaganza was beginning to stack up inside of him.

As it turns out, he was right. Unfortunately, this isn’t the main reason why Derek needed an outlet for his ongoing anger; today, he had chosen to face one of his many demons. And this one’s name is Stiles.

When his heart rate finally slows down, Derek tilts his head up to look out into the distance. Hundreds of scrawny trees align as far as the eye can see, some of them rocked gently by a chilly breeze Derek’s werewolf skin couldn’t even feel. The hissing of the wind rings through the silence and a solemn atmosphere surreptitiously settles all around Derek’s immobile figure.

Memories of these past few months rush through his mind by the dozen, as he searches for the moment when everything went terribly awry. 

It’s not about how insanely annoying Stiles can be; it’s not about how he wishes for someone to punch him in the throat every time he opens his mouth. And it’s not about how life seems to be so desperate to make their paths cross time after time, forcing them into something Derek never, ever asked for.

It is, however, about how, against all odds, Derek has grown to care for him in a way he hasn’t cared for someone since before the fire. Before he forgot what love and safety and trust was. 

During all these years of soul-searching, Derek had never found anyone who could get under his skin as easily and inconspicuously as Stiles had. So much so that when he had realized it, it was already too late.

Derek Hale was falling for someone and there was no turning back. 

For the ten thousandth time that day, his mind struggles to comprehend how completely honest that single statement really is.

While the denial phase has come and gone, the anger is still there, alive and kicking beneath his heaving chest. And he’s angry because somewhere deep under the angst and fear he had felt upon this reckoning, he’d allowed himself a momentary feeling of actual happiness.

When the reality of the whole ‘feeling happy makes me angry’ shenanigans became something he could somewhat fathom, Derek knows that he’s hit rock bottom of complete self-hatred; and that makes him even more furious.

For now, the only way in Derek’s eyes to escape this oh-so-vicious circle of a never ending shit storm is to pick up his ax and start assaulting some more wood.

So he does. 

Among his frustrated grunts and loud breathing, mingling forcibly with the dull thump of the ax cutting through the logs, the noise of someone approaching a few minutes later doesn’t immediately reach Derek’s ears. If it hadn’t been for the sweet scent of the one person he was mostly trying to avoid drifting across his nose, Derek wouldn’t have known that this wood chopping therapy session was no longer private. 

“Wow,” Stiles gasps when he brings himself to a halt a few feet away from Derek, eyes lingering on his back muscles rippling underneath sweat stained skin. “From a distance, it almost sounded like someone was shooting a porno down here. I guess I wasn’t that far off.”

Derek glances back at him with a snort, but doesn’t stop digging his ax into the wood, a little bit harder each time as he feels his heart beat faster and his hands slip to grasp the tool that much harder.

“Stiles,” he says as greeting, a bit more dryly than intended. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, nothing, just… hanging out. I knocked on your door but no one answered, so I followed the sound of unhindered moaning and… here I am!”

Sadly for him, the only answer Stiles gets is more grunting.

Derek clenches his jaw hard and grinds his teeth as he feels something unfamiliar tug at his guts. He opts for the probably unhealthy decision of disregarding it in favor of pretending to be angry. Trying to face his feelings for Stiles with him around and a heavy bladed weapon in his hands is really not the best idea. 

“Okay…” Stiles winces, his eyes glued to Derek slaughtering more logs by the second than a deforestation machine. “I hope this isn’t some kind of voodoo doll-like ritual, cause if it is… it’s not working. I’m feeling some mild pain in my butt, but I’m pretty sure it’s from all that sitting we did last night.”

Derek inhales more air than humanly possible at the mention of last night’s conversation, reliving the fear and the anxiety, but most importantly, the comfort. The way that Stiles had managed to soothe him with simple words reassuring touch.

The very moment Derek recalls Stiles’ hand on his arm, Stiles steps forward and does it again. 

“Derek, what’s going on?” he whispers, his soft palm landing gently onto Derek’s straining bicep. And just like that, Derek freezes midway, dropping his arms alongside his body and exhaling heavily, getting rid of a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

He turns around to face Stiles with a quiet desperation in his eyes. The boy must have picked up on it because after a few seconds of self-explanatory silence, he gives Derek a pat on the arm and smiles. ”Come on, I know what will make you feel better.”

-

“Hot chocolate? What do I look like, a six-year-old?” 

“Shut up and drink,” Stiles orders, looking as bossy as Derek has ever seen him. “You were out there in the cold for hours. Shirtless, I might add! What were you even thinking?”

“You know I can’t get sick, right?” Derek asks, a bit jaded. He’s eyeing the steaming mug Stiles has placed in front of him on the kitchen table like it might grow into an arm of chocolate and drown him at any given moment.

“That’s not the point! Everyone knows you’re a big strong werewolf, you don’t need to go out of your way to prove it,” Stiles continues, acting a bit too much like a scolding parent for Derek’s taste. “You never answered my question, by the way. What were you doing out there?”

“Working on my knitting patterns, what did it look like I was doing?” Derek scowls, glaring at Stiles from across the kitchen.

Stiles shifts from side to side, casually taking a seat on the counter instead of the chair opposite him. Derek wonders for a second if it’s because he’s scared to come closer. 

“Sarcasm is such a bad color on you right now,” Stiles retorts. “I kinda figured you out, you know. The more defensive you get, the more transparent you are to me. So come on, spit it out! You know there’s no way out of this.”

“Would you lay off me for five seconds? God, if I wanted to talk about my problems, I’d go see a therapist!” Derek snaps, about ready to get up and leave Stiles, and all his ridiculously spot-on statements, behind.

“Wait! So you admit that you do have problems. That’s great!” Stiles beams, obviously taking this as a small personal victory. “I mean, it’s not… great that you have problems… but it’s great that you admit it!” he stumbles over his own choice of words as he so often does and jumps off the counter to instead occupy the empty chair.

“I never said that!” Derek barks, murder evident in his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it so just drop it.” 

“Geez, Derek, you sound like a teenage girl hiding a crush or something,” Stiles remarks absently, sporting a yawn he makes absolutely no effort to conceal. 

When no angry put-down follows up, Stiles looks up to find a worried look on Derek’s face and a flare of concern shines in Stiles’ eyes before he manages to conceal it.

He obviously hadn’t been expecting that reaction.

Derek remains still as he clamps his fists shut on top of the table and his silence expresses his emotions better than any words ever could. 

“Derek…,” Stiles ventures and Derek recognizes the pleading tone in his voice; he isn’t joking around anymore. Right here, right now, in this moment, something inside Stiles’ eyes arises and Derek doesn’t know what it is.

But he finds himself enjoying it more than he should.  

His features soften helplessly and it feels like he’s slowly starting to see Stiles with a clear vision; it isn’t foggy or hidden. There’s a confident, almost reassuring spark in them, as if Stiles know that from now on, whatever he chooses to do, Derek won’t turn him down. 

Stiles reaches out across the table to lay his hand over Derek’s fist, which relaxes almost instantly at the touch. A single touch, just like that, and he’s calm in a way he hasn’t been in a long time.

His touch which somehow just became their first unspoken declaration. 

“It’s my mother’s recipe, you know,” Stiles murmurs, glancing at the drink sitting untouched between them. “The secret is a pinch of ginger.”

-

Stiles shuts the door behind Scott, smiling to himself when figuring he would have squeezed his friend’s tail in the door, if he’d had one. The dull sound of the door going shut and the fading footsteps of the teenagers walking down the street is the last sound to reach his ears before a long-absent silence falls heavily over the house. It’s nearly a shocking change from all the platter that had been going on for hours.

As usual they had seized the opportunity of the Sheriff working late at the station and claimed the house as hide-out spot for the pack. Even with the Hale house renovated to the point where Stiles no longer feared falling through the floor, the place still got a bit chilly at night. And since tonight Lydia had required a snuggle-up-in-front-of-the-fireplace night - and Derek had not yet get the one in the Hale house going - they had moved to the Stilinski resident.

It was always great to be surrounded by people Stiles could, these days, call his friends, but at the moment it feels pretty good to have them all out of the house.

All but one.

Derek is still sitting with his muscular arms slung around his knees, legs half-way pulled up against his chest. His eyes are fixed on the fire and only flicker up to Stiles as he re-enters the living room. The leather jacket is still hanging on the rack by the door, and his exposed arms are lit up in the warm light of the fire. His hair is still a bit tousled after Boyd had ruffled it, telling him to ease up, with some straws of hair standing out of place.

Part of Stiles wants to ask him why he’s still there, but the other part fears that if he does, Derek might leave. So he remains quiet, keeping his lips tightly pressed together as he sits down next to the man on the carpet.

“Didn’t want to,” Derek rumbles, breaking the silence. It takes Stiles a frowning second to realize he must have somehow sensed the unspoken question. “Leave,” Derek adds when noticing Stiles’ confusion. “Didn’t want to leave.”

And to that Stiles can only nod, feeling his heart flutter a little. Derek wanting to stay doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with him, but Stiles like to think it does.

He sighs deeply, allowing himself to sink into a more comfortable position on the ground. His shoulder brushes Derek’s for a brief moment and Stiles feels as if he just pressed his side up against a radiator.

If rewinding a few months back in time, this situation would have had Stiles wincing away with fear. But a lot of things have changed since then, including what went through his head whenever he accidentally touched an Alpha werewolf.

His eyelids fall shut almost mechanically as that warmth enters his system. Even with a long-sleeved plaid shirt on, sitting in front of an open fire, the room still feels chilly. Just looking at Derek’s bare arms makes him shudder.

He blinks slowly a few times before grunting and leaning forward to throw some more firewood into the dancing flames. The fire roars and grows in strength for a second, but Stiles reacts more to how Derek flinches at his side.

He looks back over his shoulder with a wondering frown.

Derek doesn’t meet his eyes, keeping his stare fixed on the fire. It’s obvious that whatever just happened, he’d like to pretend it didn’t.

“What is it?” Stiles asks carefully, leaning back again. When Derek remains both motionless and silent, Stiles lets his shoulder touch Derek’s again, appearing more like a nudge than anything else.

Derek mumbles something unreadable, but Stiles figures they might just be animalistic sounds he makes to stay in character. He barely reacts to them anymore though, so used to Derek’s empty threats which usually ends in them saving each other’s lives. That’s probably why Derek eventually gave up, dropped the shield and let him in.

“I don’t feel… comfortable… around it.” He speaks in a low voice, still avoiding Stiles’ questioning gaze. “Not…  confident.”

“What?” Asks Stiles, who had a hard time imagining Derek scared or insecure of anything.

It takes a while before Derek answers, but once he does, Stiles realizes he should’ve seen it coming.

“Fire.”

The one thing that had wiped out his whole family. The one smell filling the house when it was all too late. Suddenly Stiles can picture Derek avoiding fire for the last 10 years and Stiles, more than any one they know, can relate. He overcame his own fear years ago, but only because Scott forced him to the hospital to see his mom countless times. Derek hadn’t had any reason to face fire again after what happened and from what Stiles had learnt about phobias, that only made things worse.

“Well,” he offers weakly. “This is safe.” He gestures toward the fireplace. “Unless I manage to somehow set myself on fire, that is.”

“Don’t…” Derek murmurs, slowly turning to look him properly in the eyes. “… Say that.”

Stiles blinks, studying Derek’s expression in the light of the fire. With his head turned to him, it casts a shadow that covers half his face, allowing him to see his eyes glow.

The frown on Derek’s forehead is not made by anger this time. It’s concern – something Scott once stated the Alpha being incapable of showing yet Stiles kept disagreeing.

Because he’s seen it before.

It had been in Derek’s voice when yelling at him over the phone to get out of the hospital the night they found out about Peter. It had been in his eyes when pushing Stiles out of the Kanima’s reach and telling him to run. It was all over Derek’s face now, by the thought of Stiles burning.

“Okay,” Stiles manage to say, not knowing how else to respond.

Derek’s stare darts between Stiles’ two eyes for another moment before turning back to the fire, once again watching the flames with caution. Stiles can practically feel how he’s steeling himself; somehow the fact that Derek is unable to relax bothers him more than anything.

A moment passes by without either of them saying anything, the only sound the crackling of flames and the loud pounding of Stiles’ heart.

When an unusual harsh crackle cuts through the silence, Derek flinches again. And before Stiles barely knows what he’s doing, he reaches over to place his hand on Derek’s arm as if to hold him still.

It’s the same type of touch his dad had given him after his mom died and panic attacks were a daily matter. Just feeling his dad hold onto him like that had made things easier.

He’s just about to withdraw his hand and call himself silly for thinking it would help Derek when Derek’s arm relaxes. Stiles can feel the tensed muscles soften under his palm and instead his own heart rate speeds up. He keeps his eyes on the fire, scared that if he tries to look over at Derek, he might ask him to let go and that’s the last thing he wants.

“I used to be terrified of hospitals,” he mumbles instead. “After my mom died.”

First there’s no reaction, but then he catches Derek opening his mouth as if he’s about to speak, but only makes a hesitant gaping movement before he actually does.

“But not anymore?”

There’s doubt in his voice. Stiles can hear it clear as a bell. Doubt that he’ll ever get rid of his fear like Stiles did and Stiles knows what that’s like. He remembers when he thought his phobia was impossible to overcome, when he felt like puking every time Scott mentioned his mother’s job when they first got to know each other.

“No,” he replies quietly. ”You need time.” Stiles mentally slaps himself; if there’s anything Derek has had, it’s time. “You have to face your demons, you know. I found out hospitals are not only the place where people die. It’s also where Scott’s mom saved a little girl’s life.” He sighs. “Most things are good for something.”

“Fire?” Derek asks lowly.

“It kept humans alive for centuries, didn’t it?” Stiles shrugs. “And it’s keeping me warm right now. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

A few moments pass before Derek glances down to Stiles’ hand gripping his arm. The werewolf’s skin is so warm against his palm, Stiles tightens his grip almost mechanically. It may be imaginary, but he’s pretty sure there’s a light smile tugging at Derek’s mouth.

-

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Erica insists, pulling lightly on his forearm.

Boyd is still resistant to the idea. “No, it won’t.”

They’re standing on Boyd’s porch and Erica is trying to get him to go Christmas shopping for the Secret Santa exchange with her. Normally he’d jump on the chance to get to spend time with someone away from home, but he’d kind of wanted Erica’s gift to be a surprise.

“It won’t,” Erica admits, letting go of his arm, “But at least it’ll be out of the way.”

“What’s the point of doing it at all if we see each other’s gifts?” He frowns.

“Aw, come on grumpy. I won’t look if you don’t. Now come on, let’s go!”

“Fine, just let me get my keys,” Boyd grumbles. - They don’t speak during the car ride over to the mall, but Erica has the radio turned on and the volume up and she’s not too shy to sing along even if she sings off-key. 

Boyd doesn’t mind. He’s had enough of empty silences.

Erica keeps speculating excitedly about the others and what gifts they’ll buy as he parks the car and they enter the mall. Boyd gets away with saying the bare minimum, but once they’re in the mall Erica demands a bit more verbal participation.

“Where do you wanna go?” Erica impatiently asks.

Had they been human Boyd would never have been able to hear her over the roaring, crowded mall, but as a werewolf he didn’t have a problem hearing anything. 

“I don’t know,” Boyd shrugs. “You pick.” No way was he ruining the surprise by walking straight into the right store.

Suddenly Erica was in front of him, gently taking his hand in hers. 

Her smile is all Boyd can see, the feel of her skin against his is all Boyd can feel and  his heart jumps in response.

“Come on,” Erica says brightly. “I know just what to get you.”

And yeah.

Maybe Boyd is a bit in love. He’s okay with that. - “Bit too much?” Erica murmurs, heart sinking when she sees Boyd’s raised eyebrows.

“Now I know what you really needed me here for,” Boyd teases but grabs a bunch of paper bags dutifully. “You just keep me around for my strong arms and pretty face.”

“Oh, please. I’ve got the arms myself,” Erica says absentmindedly. Her eyes are already scanning the mall for the next clothing store.

“And the face?” Comes Boyd’s amused voice behind her. 

Erica can feel her heart skip a beat and a blush beginning to form. She doesn’t know how to respond because…

“Relax,” Boyd’s shoulder bumps hers as he comes to stand beside her. “It’s never a chore hanging out with you, you know that.”

Erica manages to croak out a weak affirmative.

“What do you think Jackson will get for Lydia?” Boyd asks, seeming more interested in the food court than anything else. 

“Something stupid,” Erica says.

She’s relieved to have some sense of direction as she sets course for Pizza Hut. 

Boyd manages to sense her general disinterest in the conversation and doesn’t push it further. He’s still walking next to her when some jackass barrels right into her other side, taking most of the bags with him as he falls down.

“Watch it!” she snaps, moving to pick up the bags.

“Sorry, princess-Erica?“ 

That’s… someone from the Lacrosse team, right? Erica’s head whips around and she stares incredulously as this fucking asshole she doesn’t even know crouches back down and sneaks a peek at the contents of the bag closest to him.

He lets out an appreciative whistle as his eyes flicker from the clothes to Erica and back again. 

“You sure these will even fit?” he says with a leer.

She’s one second away from decking the guy when Boyd appears, out of nowhere, and elbows him in the face. His eyes flash gold.

“Jesus christ, man!” shouts the sleazebag from what appears to be his destined position on the floor. People are starting to look at their little party.

Erica moves to pick up the bags she dropped, giving the guy a grin that’s all teeth before grabbing Boyd by the arm and dragging him away.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” she hisses, pulling him through the parking lot.

“Sorry! I really don’t know what- I’m really sorry Erica, of course you can,” and it’s not fair how Boyd can manage to sound so lost. The effect it has on Erica is just not fair.

“Don’t worry about it. Guess now we know I’m the brains and you’re just… supposed to stand around and look pretty.”

She hears his heart skip a beat but a second later comes an indignified “Hey!” she can only laugh at.

What happens next feels completely natural; Erica falls into Boyd’s space like it belonged to her and presses her lips against his in what can only qualify as the worlds greatest kiss ever.

-

He’s not sure whose brilliant idea it was, but one moment Stiles is sitting comfortably on Derek’s couch and the next, he’s being pushed out of the house with the whole pack, not even getting the chance to grab his jacket and gloves.

It’s freaking cold outside and people want to watch the stars?

Stiles doesn’t care about stars. He cares about keeping the feeling in his fingertips.

“They say there’s supposed to be some shooting stars tonight,” Jackson informs as they all walk a bit further away from the house, aiming for another clearing up ahead. He’s got both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket with Lydia clinging to one of his arms.

“How does one predict star shooting anyway?” Scott questions. He’s walking hand in hand with Allison who looks positively adorable, snuggled up nice and warm next to her goddamn werewolf boyfriend while Stiles freezes his ass off.

“The hell am I supposed to know?” Jackson snorts while Lydia sighs loudly next to him.

“It’s the Geminids,” she says it as if it should be the most obvious thing ever. She rolls her eyes in disappointment when several heads turns to her in confusion. “The meteor shower? The yearly meteor shower in mid-December?”

“Shush,” Jackson murmurs softly, stopping in the clearing to pull her close. “I like you better when you’re quiet.” She giggles when he places a delicate kiss on her nose.

“Me too,” admits Danny, standing next to Isaac. “Then the rest of us won’t look so dumb.”

They all chuckle in agreement before lifting their gazes to the starry sky above. Even Stiles has to admit it’s gorgeous. It is indeed a perfect night for stargazing with no clouds or streetlights messing up their view. The sky is pitch black with millions of sparkling diamonds forming familiar shapes.

They stand in total silence and admire the sight for quite a while.

Stiles tries to keep his jaws tightly clenched together to keep from chattering his teeth like an old typing machine. He’s got his arms folded tight over his chest, hands shoved underneath his armpits because the long sleeved shirt at least provides a tiny measure of warmth.

Astonished by how he seems to be the only one minding the lack of degrees, he glances around.

Jackson has his arms wrapped around Lydia, resting his chin on the top of her head. Scott stands with one arm holding Allison’s waist while she burrows into his side. Boyd and Erica are holding hands even though neither of them should be suffering from the cold and Danny stands leaning on Isaac’s side, neither of them bold enough to cross the line just yet. But it seems like, for now, just standing next to Isaac is enough for Danny to shut out the rest of the world.

Stiles is just about to turn his head further and locate the last member of the pack when he hears someone stepping up right behind him. He can feel the warm presence curl over the back of his neck and obviously knows it’s Derek.

He remains still, waiting for the Alpha to either speak or move, do what he came here for, but nothing happens.

The others start to mumble between one another, raising their hands to point at the sky and trace the shapes. Stiles keeps his eyes fixed on the stars, but his entire focus is on Derek behind him.

After what feels like an eternity, Stiles gives in to his instincts that have been screaming at him and slowly leans backwards. Even if he knew Derek was there, his heart skips a beat when his shoulder blades collide with the werewolf’s firm chest.

Derek catches his weight as if he were lighter than a feather, and Stiles can’t help but blink slowly and breathe out when the warmth starts spreading through the fabric of their clothes and onto Stiles’ skin. His heart beats steady and hard in his chest and maybe just a little too fast, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. He knows all the wolves – Derek included – can hear the rise of his pulse, but right now he just thinks: let them.

“Hey, look!” Erica suddenly exclaims, flopping her arms frantically.

Stiles tilts his head back to see to where she’s pointing, letting his head rest against Derek’s chest. The leather on his jacket sends a shiver down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold when the leather brushes the back of his neck in a tiny caress.

The night sky is lit up in shooting stars: the meteor shower.

“My God, it’s beautiful!” Allison says in awe.

“Make a wish, guys,” reminds Danny.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just stays where he is in the back of the group with Derek supporting him.

-

It’s Friday afternoon and the classrooms of Beacon Hills High School are abandoned by eager teenagers on their way back home to start the weekend.

Scott and Stiles are strolling through a corridor on their way back to their lockers at a much slower pace than the rest of the student body. Three people pass by wearing Santa hats and Scott chuckles at the sight of them, but it fades when his eyes lands on Stiles’ thoughtful expression.

“You okay?” He asks, and Stiles seems to be pulled back to the present. “You look like Danny on Election Day.”

Stiles scoffs and tries to shrug it off, but the silence that follows doesn’t mean his friend dropped the subject; he’s waiting for him to answer the question. You can’t get away with lying to a werewolf, Stiles knows that. He’s sick of lying, anyway. Not only to the people around him, but also to himself. And if he can’t even rely on his best friend, then who?

“Hey Scott,” he starts lowly as they turn a corner and finally spot their lockers on the other end. It’s loud around them, but Scott tilts his head to show Stiles he’s listening. He breathes out once again, slowly, before continuing. “What was it like… falling in love with Allison?”

His voice is quiet and by the lack of reaction from Scott has Stiles believing Scott didn’t actually hear him. But then he cocks an eyebrow at him when they reach their lockers and deftly turns in the combination.

“Why do you ask?”

Stiles’ lips purse as he opens his own locker. His heartbeat is speeding up when the realization of what he’s about to say washes through him.

It still feels so unreal, even to him. Letting Scott in on it, saying it out loud, will only make it twice as real.

“Because I might be just a little bit attracted to someone.” He pauses there at first, but figures the last part is excruciatingly vital to this particular conversation. “Someone who’s not the opposite sex.”

Scott calmly grabs his backpack from inside his locker and closes it before looking at Stiles. “I thought we’d covered that already?”

“I know,” Stiles says almost frantically. “I know, but it’s not that. It’s…” He rolls his eyes at himself and slams the locker shut. “It’s not just anyone.”

Scott sighs, but it almost sounds like a chuckles as they fall in next to each other again, blurring into the stream of students trying to escape the building.

“This is about Derek, isn’t it?”

Stiles feels his heart flutter and blushes when he spots Isaac up ahead of them. He swears the guy actually turns his head and throws him the weirdest look ever.

Werewolf’s, man, jeez.

“I’m not sure I want to know how you knew that,” he mumbles to Scott. “Or how long you’ve known that.” He sees Isaac smile knowingly before his eyes dart quickly away and Stiles slaps himself on the forehead for being so stupid. “God, the whole pack knows, doesn’t it?”

“Yup,” Scott nods, untroubled as ever.

Stiles remains in his own world of shame for a while before he frowns and looks over at his friend.

“Wait, you don’t think it’s weird?”

“Why would I?” Scott wonders.

“Because it’s Derek,” Stiles reminds him, heart skipping a beat at the reality of the name. “Your Alpha, leader; Jedi Master! This doesn’t feel strange to you?” He demands.

“Nope,” responds Scott, a smooth shrug following. “I’m good.”

Stiles’s mouth drops open. “Wow.”

Scott snorts and stops in the hallway to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Hey. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? Not to question you, even if what you’re doing is totally insane?”

He squeezes Stiles’ shoulder, drawing some sort of chuckle/sigh from him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles truthfully. Scott’s a shitty friend sometimes, but when he’s not a shitty friend, he’s the best friend in the entire world and Stiles wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I’m only returning the favor,” Scott remarks with a smile, and Stiles can’t argue with that. He chances a glance at the clock on the wall and sighs. “Look,” he says, looking back at Stiles. “I promised I’d go buy my gift for Secret Satna with Danny today so I got to run, but…” He slings on arm around his shoulders and hugs him. “You and Derek are going to be okay. Okay?”

“He’s Derek,” Stiles repeats. “An emotionally wrecked Alpha werewolf. Holy God,” he suddenly moans. “How did this happen?”

Scott laughs softly, squeezing his shoulder fondly.

“Stiles, if anyone is going to be able to tame that wolf,” he says. “It’s you.”

- - -

Allison sighs and wonders, for the millionth time, why she got stuck with Isaac.

“Isaac. Did you get Lydia or something? The way you’re fussing over this…,”

Isaac frowns, but doesn’t look away from the shelf of ridiculously expensive teddy bears. “I just want to give them a good gift,” he replies softly.

“Alright then. I’ll just.. wait outside.”

Isaac doesn’t even say anything, just waves her off.

Allison curses Derek under her breath and stalks out of the store to sit on a bench outside. Derek was the one who insisted they do everything in pairs. If he could see her now he’d probably flip.

Well, tough luck. Allison is bored. She managed to buy her gift to Scott within an hour whereas Isaac has been wandering between stores for four.

She grabs her phone out of her handbag.

Three unchecked messages from Scott.

I don’t know how I’m expected to find you a good gift? Any wishes? - scott

Nvm found you the perfect gift!! xoxoxo -scott

Oh my god Danny is taking forever? -scott

She smiles down at her phone.

Isaac too, she types. I miss you.

Miss you too! :( meet up at the house after? The reply comes almost immediately.

Of course.

Allison’s barely pressed ‘send’ before she hears a timid “Allison?” from behind her. She almost drops her cell phone at that, which, well. If her father ever found out a werewolf sneaked up on her, he’d probably flip too.

She turns around curiously. “Yeah?”

Isaac looks fidgety and uncomfortable. “I think I need your help?”

Allison knows Isaac. They may not be the best of friends, but what she knows of Isaac is all confident and fierce so it just hurts so much to see him like this, awkward and uneasy, as if he’s worried he doesn’t belong. The way he must have been before the pack.

“What do you need?” Allison asks and damn it, she’s not even a little bit annoyed anymore.

“I don’t know what to get… them,” Isaac confesses.

“I’m not sure how I can help? If it’s that important, which I’m guessing it really is, tell me about them. But don’t give away too much!” 

“Well… I really just. I guess I want to tell them that I can relate.”

“To what?” Allison questions. She tries not to smile at how nervous Isaac looks.

“How they feel. To show them that I… I know what it feels like, thinking you’re not part of anything, or like you don’t belong.”

Allison has to give it to Isaac, that could be so many different people in their merry band of misfits that she won’t be able to figure out who it is and oh boy does she feel bad for being annoyed earlier.

“I want to tell them that even though they think they aren’t doing much for the group, they really are. And that I can relate,” Isaac continues. 

-

Stiles is sitting at the kitchen table with of a cup of warm tea cradled in his palms when he hears someone knock on the front door. He grunts softly, feeling his entire body ache as he attempts to stand and make his way out to the hallway.

He blinks in rapid succession to get the sleep out of his eyes, rubbing his painfully cold fingers together before reaching out to grab the door handle.

Derek’s frowned face remains motionless even after the door has swung open an a unusually pale Stiles is revealed. He reaches out to grab Stiles’ jaw to tilt his head to the side, as if to inspect him.

“You’re sick,” he firmly states.

“Hello to you too,” Stiles smiles tiredly, wriggling loose from Derek’s grip and shuddering from the cold air seeping through his sweatpants and hoodie at the same time. “And yeah,” he adds. “It’s just a fever, but… I’m not feeling too hot.”

“But you are.”

“W-what?” Stiles stammers.

“Your forehead,” Derek clarifies, making a nodding gesture. “It’s hot.”

“Oh. Oh, right.” He scoffs. “Yeah, I’m a hot mess.” Derek briefly rolls his eyes. “And sorry for the smell. Scott couldn’t stand it either.”

But unlike Scott – who’d been over this morning before school but had been too disturbed by the scent of Stiles’ sickness that he had to leave soon after arriving– Derek doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he walks right past Stiles and steps into the house like he owns the place.

Stiles is all too happy to close the door.

He walks back into the kitchen with Derek silently following, not sure how much effort he should put into being a good host in his current state.

He retreats to his chair and folds his legs underneath him, wrapping his hands around his still hot mug in a vain attempt at warmth. His jaw clenches, trying not to chatter his teeth too much as both hot and cold rush through his system in a confusing mess.

Derek sits in the unoccupied chair opposite him, comfortably slouching with hands tucked inside the pockets of his jacket. His eyes sweep over the room, but eventually fall permanently on Stiles.

The boy refuses to look up to meet his gaze however and keeps staring down into his tea for a short moment of silence.

“So why did you come knocking on my front door?” He finally asks.

“You weren’t in your room,” Derek says simply, as if it were the most natural thing to say. And for Derek, it’s pretty bad how accurate that is. 

“Fair enough,” Stiles concedes. “I mean, why are you here in the first place? Just dropping by for a nice little chat?”

Derek shifts in his chair, drawing Stiles’ attention away from his cup long enough to notice Derek’s obvious discomfort.

“I had a feeling.”

Stiles frowns. ”You had a feeling about me being sick and helpless?”

“I don’t question my instincts,” Derek mumbles, almost sounding defensive.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles says, raising one hand in a sign of peace. “Your instincts are fine. I like your instincts. I bet they’ve even–”

“Would it kill you to shut up?” He cocks an eyebrow at him in a frustrated gesture.

“Yes,” Stiles says without hesitation.

“Prove it,” Derek challenges, doing that thing with his eyebrows that makes him look smug as hell.

Stiles purses his lips and averts his gaze from the man in front of him.

The silence lasts for nearly a minute before Stiles groans and gives Derek a significant look.

“See? Awkward silence. This is what I fight against.”

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” Derek claims.

“It is awkward.”

“Only because you make it so.”

Stiles sighs and shakes his head in defeat. Another short moment of silence pass by before he breaks it again.

“This is all your fault, by the way. Me being sick. If you hadn’t dragged me out in the woods yesterday–”

“It was your idea,” Derek counters.

“I didn’t expect you to go for it right then and there. I didn’t even bring my jacket!”

“I gave you mine.”

“You’re ruining my point,” he whines pitifully.

“You’re an idiot.”

But there’s a sort of fondness in the insult and it has Stiles thrown so far off his game that he doesn’t have a witty comeback. Instead he drops eyes back to the untouched tea before him.

He’s suddenly hyper aware of his heart beating a little faster than it did before and he’s too concentrated on making it stop to notice the thoughtful expression on Derek’s face.

After another silence – the longest yet – Derek rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair. As he walks over to Stiles’ side of the table, he slips casually out of his leather jacket and puts it around the boy’s shoulders.

Stiles inhales sharply at the warmth surrounding him as he looks up into Derek’s eyes.

“Again?” He asks, throat uncomfortably dry. “Really?”

“You need it more than I do,” Derek answers with a shrug. “I’ll come back for it later. Besides…” He grins weakly. “It suits you.”

Stiles scoffs, unable to tell whether it’s just the fever being a pain or if he’s actually blushing.