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All he wanted to do was curl up with his book and pass a few hours lost in its pages.
Was that so much to ask?
Apparently.
If he were at home he wouldn’t have even left his bed; just curled up into the cocoon of blankets and pulled out his book. What else was there to do on a rainy Saturday morning in October?
But he was at the “den”, aka Derek’s house, because someone had insisted he stay the night (Stiles wasn’t under the delusion that it was for any other reason than he could then make breakfast).
So yeah, he had made breakfast. For himself. He loaded up a plate full of pancakes, eggs, and bacon and carried that in one hand while balancing his OJ in the other for the short trip to the dining room.
Seven superhuman noses followed the smell and one human trailed behind. Suddenly Stiles was being stared down by a very angry pack and Allison, all sort of pissed that Stiles has literally only made enough for himself.
Stiles remained composed, like the honey badger, gave Jackson a cheeky grin, and said, “Cereal’s in the pantry.”
He shouldn’t really be surprised then that they found a way to retaliate. It was half past ten and Stiles was ready to settle down and read. It was a big house which Derek and the pack had fixed up nicely so Stiles was sure there would be many great nooks for him to get lost in.
No.
The living room was occupied. Lydia was painting her nails on the couch while reading a magazine. Real Housewives blared from the TV. She glared at him when he entered and made to turn off the TV (even though she clearly wasn’t watching it) and growled low until he made his way out.
The basement/game room/den was occupied. Jackson and Scott were fighting over who was going to play Danny at Black Ops. Allison sat on the couch in the corner with a textbook on her lap. Her eyes were glazed over, however, so Stiles knew she wasn’t really paying attention. Of the four occupants of the room she was the only one to give him a smile before returning to her daydream. Jackson and Scott were oblivious to his presence and Danny looked at him quickly before turning back to the game.
The kitchen had no comfy chairs so that was out. Same with the dining room.
Stiles knew from firsthand experience that the bathtubs were not great places to hang out.
There were three guest rooms, two of them large enough to house bunk beds to accommodate the pack when they stayed over. The third room was Lydia’s and Stiles dared not enter its domain. She occasionally shared it with Erica and Allison however today Erica was in another room, back to sleep.
His final hope, the boys’ room, started out as the perfect solution. Boyd and Isaac were back to sleep as well and Stiles was convinced if he was very quiet then he could read here and not disturb them.
No.
He hadn’t even cracked open the book when Isaac cracked open an eye. He didn’t speak, just glared. Boyd provided the words without even opening an eye or turning his head. “No, Stiles. Swear to God I can hear every single fiber of that page turning.”
He, as stated, hadn’t even opened the book.
Fine, then. They were pissed, he got that. The lot of them had gotten spoiled on Stiles’ cooking and had come to expect it. But where was he supposed to go?
His eyes fell on the final door of the upstairs hallway. Derek’s room.
He hadn’t had to say a thing for everyone to assume the room was off limits.
But hey, Stiles had never really understood limits, boundaries, or any other “line” drawn in the sand that prevented him from doing something so he pushed open the door, slid in, and drew it closed behind him.
It was a typical room, he supposed, although he was surprised there weren’t more serial killer-esque furnishings suggesting the inner psycho of sourwolf that Stiles was convinced was a thing.
There was a king size bed with a navy blue duvet and sheets to match. Dark wood night tables sat on either side and a matching bureau sat next to the door to Stiles’ right. Across from the doorway there were two floor to ceiling windows on either side of an old wooden trunk, each window had long navy blue curtains that were drawn, revealing the storm outside. There wasn’t much light as the sun was nowhere to be found so Stiles turned on one of the bedside lamps.
To get under the covers or to not get under the covers, that was the question? They were warm and inviting and Stiles ached for relief for his frozen toes. With the majority of the residents having their own internal heater Derek had thought it a waste to turn on the actual heating until at least the end of November. You know, because Allison and Stiles enjoyed breaking off frozen limbs and seeing their breath every time they breathed.
Under the covers it is. They were just as warm as they appeared and smelled of Derek which wasn’t unpleasant. He punched one of the navy covered pillows a few times and settled in, book in hand.
.
He got up twice. Once to use the bathroom and once for lunch which, again, he made only for himself. It wasn’t like they could get madder at him.
He spent some time exploring Derek’s master bathroom. It had the same somber navy color scheme which somehow suited the sourwolf. The floor was blue and white tile and so were the shower walls. Everything gleamed with newness and if Stiles didn’t know better he’d say this place was never used.
It was. There was a towel on the towel rack that smelled like soap. Some products sat on the counter with a brush and bar of soap. Stiles enjoyed nosing around the room, seeing how Derek lived when he wasn’t surrounded by a group of annoying heathens.
When he had explored every last nook and cranny, every toilet brush and shampoo bottle, he went back to bed. He was about a third finished with his book and felt no need to get up again.
.
Derek found him at half past four, fast asleep. The book was on the floor next to the bed and Stiles was snoring softly into the pillow, arms curled beneath him.
There was a part of him that knew he should be angry Stiles had entered his space without permission, that he had invaded his privacy. But there was a bigger part that enjoyed seeing Stiles in his bed, sleeping peacefully as if he belonged there.
As if he belonged.
Instead of waking Stiles Derek simply shut his door. He removed his shoes and wet cloths and found dry ones in his bureau, making sure to shut the drawer softly. Finally, he turned out the light and crawled into bed behind the spastic best friend of his beta wolf, the annoying teenage boy that he was starting to really like having around.
He didn’t wrap his arms around him or anything. Just laid on the other side of the bed and listened to Stiles breathe.