Stiles woke up to the clatter of someone walking around the kitchen while softly humming a song. He wondered if he was still dreaming, as the only person who he wanted to wake up next to was probably sleeping in his own loft. Then, the events of the night before came rushing back at him in a crash: the date at a real restaurant, the stop at the lookout for a makeout session, the taste of champagne on Derek’s lips before coming back to his place, the way they laughed as they fell into bed together, as if they’d done it a million times before.
Now, as he opened his eyes, the stretch of mattress next to him empty, the unfamiliar gray sheets colder where Derek had been until moments ago, he wondered if this would be the way it would always feel waking up at Derek’s place: filled with warmth and contentment surrounded by his scent, his own mind still not registering the fact that he was dating Derek. Derek Hale, the same man he and Scott had accused of murder when they met him, the same man that put his life on the line for their safety at uncountable times, the same man that faced with an insane amount of misfortune became softer instead of letting grief dictate the rest of his life. Derek who liked to listen to soft music as he drove his ridiculously expensive car, Derek who paid attention to Stiles to such a degree that he could tell when his mind was wandering and distract him before he distracted himself, Derek who could have chosen anyone in the world, but somehow chose Stiles.
He listened to Derek roaming around for a while, feeling his heart grow fonder with the man with every passing minute. His stomach grumbled when he smelled the coffee machine going and he decided to get up, putting on his clothes quickly, a smile never leaving his face. He spent the night with Derek… it was still a very surreal concept to him.
When Stiles made it to Derek’s kitchen, he was delighted to see Derek was only wearing a pair of loose pants and nothing else, walking around barefoot and shirtless as he fried bacon on the stove. He leaned against the door, watching Derek’s back and wondering what he’d have to do to get him to stay like that all day.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up yet,” Derek said.
“The food smells great and the view is amazing, why would I stay in bed?” he replied.
Stiles didn’t see it, but by now he knew Derek well enough to know he was rolling his eyes at him.
“How do you like your coffee when you don’t have it at Starbucks?” the other man asked.
“Funnily enough, I don’t know. I’ll drink it black, straight from the pot and run to the nearest Starbucks to get my usual.”
“How come you’re not running to the nearest Starbucks then?”
“And miss the chance to know how you’re in the mornings when there’s not a supernatural shit going around? I didn’t know you liked to cook,” Stiles said, not even trying to hide how impressed he was.
“It’s kind of difficult to do it when there’s, as you said, ‘supernatural shit going around’.”
Stiles smiled and went over to where Derek was cooking, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist, resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “You know, no one’s ever cooked breakfast for me.”
“Well, it’s for me too, so it’s a selfish move, really.”
“Har, har,” he joked. “What else is on the menu? Or is this a traditional werewolf breakfast of bacon on bacon?”
“Eggs, when I’m done with this. You can help with toasting the bread or getting the fruit from the fridge.”
“God, I might just love you,” said Stiles in a lighthearted tone, kissing his back right above his tattoo. Derek, for his part, tensed in Stiles’ arms, a tightly coiled spring that could jump at any time. “What is it?”
Derek didn’t reply, he just turned off the stove and turned around, putting his hands on Stiles’ arms. “Nothing, it’s just…”
“It's just what? Was it something I said?”
“We’ve never said that before,” Derek looked directly into Stiles’ eyes, as if looking for something. “Can you say it again?”
“What? That I love you?”
Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself to avoid doing something. “One more time?”
Stiles felt a rush of love for the man standing in front of him and wished there was a way he could make it clear for him that he was not lying, that he was being as serious as he could be. He took one of Derek’s hands and placed it on his chest, directly over his heart. “I know you’re hearing my heartbeat, so I’ll say it again for the benefit of your werewolf powers: I love you. Been loving you for a while now. I can’t believe it took us this long to get here.”
Derek opened his eyes again, a faint blue shimmer fading as he did so. He looked as if this was the first time he’d heard those words in a long, long time. “I didn’t think—”
“What? That I meant it?” Stiles joked, only a little offended. He always thought he had more reasons to be the one whose insecurities would rear their ugly head when it came to their relationship. He guessed it wasn’t true. “You dumb, big wolf. Of course I’m in love with you. Contrary to popular belief, I wouldn’t do what I did with you last night with anyone.”
Leaning forward to rest his forehead against Stiles’, Derek said, “I love you too, Stiles. And I’ll make sure you know it every day. For as long as you’ll have me.”
“Well, it might be a long, long time, are you ready to take on that endeavour?”
Derek didn’t hesitate. “For you? I’ll do anything.”