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“You should come over for dinner.”
The first time Stiles invited him over, Derek didn’t really know where the invitation came from.
They’d just finished with the most recent big bad of the week, Derek’s clothes were torn to shreds, he had blood in places he’d rather not have blood, and Stiles was covered in dirt, leaves and bruises. Even though it was obvious he was in pain, and they had literally just sat down after taking out the monster of the week, Stiles had turned to him with a brilliant smile and asked him over for dinner.
“It’s ten-thirty,” Derek replied, somewhat stupidly.
“So? We’ve been out here for hours, and I know you’re a Werewolf, but presumably the consumption of food is still a requirement for you to not, you know, keel over and die.” Stiles slapped him in the arm and struggled to his feet, using his bat to help him up. “Come on, let’s go grab some food. What do you want to eat?”
Derek didn’t know what to say to the invitation. He only had ketchup, pancake syrup and what was likely a rotted and mouldy red bell pepper in his fridge, so eating real food was kind of a relief.
Not that he was entirely confident Stiles could make real food, but more real than the takeout, MSG-filled food Derek ordered on a nightly basis.
It was a good thing he was a Werewolf, or he’d probably have died a few years ago. And not just because of the constant monsters that showed up.
“Whatever you have is fine,” Derek finally said, standing and following along behind Stiles while they headed back for their cars.
Scott was on a date tonight, and thus unreachable, as was the norm when something terrible was happening. Derek really needed to have a talk with him about how saving people’s lives came before his insatiable libido, because he really didn’t want to run into another situation where Stiles was holding him up for hours in a pool while Scott tried to impress some new girl’s family with his puppy-dog eyes.
“We have tons of stuff,” Stiles said, picking his way through the trees. He tripped at one point, Derek grabbing the back of his hoodie to stop him from face-planting and Stiles turned to offer a nod of thanks before continuing along. “Dad and I tend to eat leftovers on weekends from the various meals we’ve had throughout the week. We have some macaroni and cheese, some grilled chicken and vegetables. I might even have some steak left from yesterday, unless dad stole that for dinner tonight.”
“I’m fine with whatever,” Derek informed him, reaching their respective vehicles. “Whatever you don’t want to have left over, I’ll eat that.”
“But like, what do you want?” Stiles asked, hands in his pockets while he stood beside the Jeep, Derek pulling open his door for the Camaro.
“I’m fine with whatever,” Derek repeated. “I’ll meet you there.”
Climbing into the car, he slammed the door and started it. He waited for Stiles to get into the Jeep and pull away before leaving himself. The last thing he wanted was for something to appear out of nowhere and attack Stiles after he’d already left.
Derek was not Scott, and he cared about Stiles. A lot.
Maybe too much, but that was a problem he tried not to dwell on. It was a problem he’d buried deep, deep in the recesses of his mind that he only took out to occasionally look at when he was alone in his apartment, peeking open the box to see a life he could potentially have before remembering that was impossible for him and closing the box with his chest aching before burying it into the back of his mind once more.
He followed Stiles home, shaking his head occasionally at the way Stiles was dancing in his seat, clearly visible through both the mirror and the back window. Derek could actually see him lip-syncing and he wondered if the song was on the radio or a tape.
It couldn’t be a CD or AV, because the Jeep was older than Stiles was. That meant it was either the radio or a tape. Knowing Stiles, it was probably a tape.
They made it back to his place relatively quickly, Derek parking on the curb while Stiles parked on the driveway. He always parked right in the middle, which Derek found a little strange, but considering his father always parked the cruiser on the road, it made sense he wouldn’t worry about taking up space.
Stiles definitely knew how to take up space. On a couch, in a driveway, in someone’s heart. Whatever.
“Your dad at work?” Derek asked while he and Stiles made their way up the front steps to the door.
“Yep.” Stiles unlocked the door and shoved his shoulder into it to get it open, holding it for Derek to follow him inside.
“Is he gonna be okay with you having a Werewolf in your house in the middle of the night without adult supervision?”
“Since when do you care?” Stiles asked, turning to give him a look. “You remember I once harboured your fugitive ass while my dad was home and I was a minor, right?”
It was weird to think about things that had happened so many years ago as being so many years ago. Stiles had been sixteen when Derek had met him, having been nineteen at the time. Now, Stiles was a somewhat mature twenty-three year old, and Derek himself was a responsible adult at twenty-six.
Thinking on it, it was actually a little startling to realize he’d known Stiles for seven years.
“Just making sure you won’t get grounded,” Derek commented, smiling a little while following Stiles into the kitchen. “Wouldn’t want to cause you problems and force you to an early bedtime.”
Stiles flipped him off over his shoulder while heading to the fridge and opening it. “So, what’ll it be? We actually have meatloaf, too, though I’m not sure how long that’s been in there. And some gross bean casserole that Melissa made for my dad.” He turned to Derek. “Don’t ever tell her I said it was gross. It’s healthy, so I make dad eat it, but I have to literally force it down because it’s so unappetizing.”
Derek shrugged. “I’ll have that.” Stiles hadn’t exactly sold it to him, but if it was something he wouldn’t eat, no point in it going to waste. Besides, Derek couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a vegetable.
He should probably try and eat more salad.
Stiles glanced over at him, frowning. “Dude, it’s gross, no. What do you actually want?”
“I’m fine with that.” Derek shrugged, wandering over and shoving his hands in his pockets. “As long as I can have some protein with it.”
“Okay.” Stiles looked back into the fridge. Derek moved up right behind him, trying not to get overwhelmed by the pure scent of him. “Dad didn’t take the steak, so you can have that, if you want. Or chicken. We actually also have fish, for some reason.” Stiles pulled a container out and frowned at it. “I don’t remember making fish. Maybe dad made it one of the nights I was out this week.”
“I’ll take whatever,” Derek said.
Stiles turned to him, sighing. “Can you just choose something? Would it kill you?”
“I mean, if you made it, it might,” Derek teased. He took the fish from his hands, since it was already out and went to grab himself a plate.
It was always weirdly domestic when he came over to Stiles’ place, because he knew where everything was. It was worse when Stiles came to his place, because then it smelled like Stiles for days and Derek hated how right it felt. Having Stiles in his space, being close to him, being with him.
All things Derek kept locked in that box in the back of his mind.
“You know what? You’re not invited to dinner anymore,” Stiles informed him, pulling out the bean casserole and setting it on the counter for Derek to serve himself. “You’re uninvited.”
“And yet, you offer me the casserole.”
“I’m hoping it’ll kill you,” Stiles informed him, but the quirk of his lips when he bent back down to pull something else out of the fridge suggested he didn’t mean that.
A few years ago, he probably would’ve meant it. Now, they were in that place where they were comfortable friends. Derek wished they could move a bit further than that, but Stiles had never shown any interest in him and Derek was too worried to lose the one person in his life he couldn’t afford to lose. It was better to just leave those thoughts in his box.
Derek warmed up the fish and some of the bean casserole in the microwave while Stiles spooned an obscene amount of macaroni into a bowl. They traded at the microwave once Derek’s food was done and then both sat at the table, eating their dinner.
Stiles spoke about his job a little bit, mostly bemoaning the fact that the married woman in the cubicle next to him kept trying to set him up with her daughter.
“I mean, her daughter is a lesbian. I haven’t even met her and I know she is. Lady is just in denial, she needs to get with the program. Appreciate her daughter is healthy and happy and move on. Not try and set her up with the weirdo who sits next to her at work.”
“You’re not a weirdo,” Derek said, taking another bite of the bean casserole. While he’d admit it wasn’t the best thing he’d ever eaten, it was still fairly good. Not as disgusting as Stiles alluded.
“I don’t know how to feel about that.” Stiles squinted at Derek. “Doesn’t mean much coming from you. I mean, you’re way weirder than me, so it would make sense you can’t see the weirdness in me over the weirdness in you.”
“Thanks Stiles,” Derek said, sighing.
Stiles just grinned, kicked him lightly under the table, and they returned to eating while Stiles continued to regale him with woes from work.
After about forty-five minutes, Derek bid him goodnight and headed out, somewhat pleased with the fact that he’d had a decent meal for once. He really needed to eat better.
Two days had passed since the first late night dinner invitation before Stiles called Derek up to ask him to come over for a second one. He mostly complained that he had food that was going to go to waste if Derek didn’t help him eat it, but when Derek showed up, most of the food he found looked fresh and in no danger of going bad.
He didn’t comment on it though, he just helped Stiles make whatever it was he was making. Stiles often asked him what he wanted, but Derek was just happy to spend time with him, so he just insisted he didn’t mind. He was fine eating whatever Stiles had.
Tonight seemed to be an everything night, from the looks of it, because Stiles had some pizza rolls in the microwave, some sausage rolls in the oven, potatoes out on the barbecue outside and he was grilling chicken on the stove.
Pretty much everything he could have working at the same time, he was using. Derek ended up going to add some bell peppers and onions to the barbecue, mostly because he needed more vegetables in his life, but Stiles spent the next ten minutes asking him what he enjoyed about those two particular vegetables.
Derek gave him a weird look and said he didn’t particularly like either of them, he just really needed vegetables in his system before he killed himself. Stiles had deflated at that and stabbed angrily at the chicken before Derek took over. He didn’t want shredded chicken right now.
When everything was ready, they ate and chatted, and after a while, Stiles pulled out some ice cream and they watched a movie while eating dessert on the couch.
After Derek left, he figured this was just Stiles trying to get something out of his system. What that something was, he had no idea, but he didn’t dwell on it too much. He knew whatever Stiles needed, he’d get over it eventually and the dinner invites would stop.
Not that Derek wanted them to stop, but it was best for him not to get his hopes up that this would be a recurring event.
Which probably explained his confusion when he got yet another call a few days later. Stiles had made too much food and needed Derek to come over to help take some back home so it didn’t go to waste. When Derek had asked what it was, more out of curiosity than actually caring since food was food at this point, Stiles had hedged and asked Derek what he thought it was. Which was suspicious in and of itself.
So when Stiles told Derek to drop by in a few hours, Derek disobeyed and dropped by a few minutes later only to find Stiles in the kitchen making lamb. There was, in fact, no overabundance of food made. Not yet, anyway.
Derek didn’t call him out on it, he just let Stiles sputter his way through an explanation about Melissa having come by to take some to work, and Parrish grabbing some for the precinct, all the while probably acutely aware of the fact that Derek was counting the lies as they escaped his mouth.
He just stuck around throughout the day to help Stiles finish making the lamb. He chopped some vegetables for him, since Stiles wanted to make a few side dishes, and then actually put together a salad, which was going to be a nice checkmark for Derek in his ‘have I eaten vegetables lately?’ book. Because the answer would now be yes.
The sheriff came home in time for dinner and the three of them sat around the table, chatting and enjoying the meal. The sheriff gave them a few rundowns about something weird happening around town, which he suspected would likely be another Supernatural creature coming out of the woodworks, but he was adamant they wait before investigating since he didn’t want Derek exposed before they were sure.
A few nights later, they were sure, and Derek picked Stiles up a little after one in the morning so they could go out towards town. The beast—whatever it was—seemed to be favouring the high school, for some reason, so the pack was meeting up in the lot.
Hopefully everyone would still have their limbs by the time Stiles and Derek got there.
Stiles climbed into the Camaro with a bag, grinning at Derek as if they were about to go and catch a movie as opposed to facing what could possibly be imminent death, depending on what the beast was.
“I brought snacks.”
“Of course you did.” Derek rolled his eyes while easing away from the curb, but realistically, he wasn’t at all surprised. Stiles was literally the only human he knew who could go to a fight to the death with skittles and licorice in his pockets, hoping to fight off the big bad of the day and then enjoy some sugar.
It was what made Stiles Stiles, and Derek loved that about him.
“I have beef jerky and dried apples,” Stiles informed him, pulling both items out of his bag. “Which do you want?”
“Whichever,” Derek said, holding out his hand and waiting for Stiles to decide which to give him.
Apparently, it was both, because Derek got a few strips of jerky and four dried apple pieces. He ate the apple pieces first, because they were on top, and then munched on the jerky while driving them towards the high school.
“So,” Stiles said casually. Almost too casually. “You like apples, then?”
“They’re okay,” Derek said with a shrug.
“What’s your favourite fruit, then?”
“I’m usually fine with whatever.” Derek generally bought whatever kept longest and was in season. He didn’t really think much on it, he just got what was practical.
He glanced at Stiles when he heard him inhale slowly, and then let it out. His eyes were closed, like he was trying for patience. Which was hilarious, in Derek’s opinion, because Stiles was the most impatient person he knew. To be fair, he understood that Stiles’ ADHD made it difficult for him sometimes, but it didn’t change the fact that he was impatient for the most part.
Reaching the high school, the rest of the pack was already there and they exited the car to join them so Scott could go through his little pow-wow. It was the usual spiel about not killing anyone, trying to isolate the problem, figure out how to solve the dilemma, all that usual heroic bullshit Derek had long ago given up trying to talk him out of.
In the end, Derek didn’t want to kill anyone. As a Supernatural creature himself, he understood that it wasn’t fair for him to immediately want to kill anything that was Supernatural but, in his defence, he didn’t go around murdering people for fun, so he felt he was entitled to live his life in peace.
Still, Scott was still very anti-killing, even after all this time, so Derek just stood back with his arms crossed and sighed internally about how horribly the entire ordeal was going to go before they separated to head into the school.
Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ hoodie when Scott told them to stick in pairs, and dragged the human towards the side door. If Stiles was going to go in there with a murdering beast, Derek didn’t trust anyone to keep him safe other than himself. While he knew Scott cared about him, and the pack as a whole wanted Stiles to stay safe, they often forgot he was human and that, while he could take a hit like nobody’s business, Stiles getting an injury meant weeks of healing as opposed to seconds or minutes. Derek preferred having Stiles close to keep him safe.
Not to mention Stiles was pretty much the only person he trusted to have his back. Sure, he didn’t mind the pack, but Derek didn’t trust most of them, Scott included. The only person who’d ever been there for him time and time again was Stiles, and so, Stiles was who he was going to trust to have his back, thank you very much.
“We should grab dinner after this,” Stiles said casually, picking the lock on the side door and acting like they weren’t about to break into the high school to attack an evil, murdering monster. “Get our energy and all that.”
“Sure,” Derek said, because he’d long ago stopped bothering to attempt to get Stiles to focus on the task at hand. It was impossible, and it tended to distract both of them when he did.
“Cool. I think we have some lasagna left. You like lasagna?” Stiles asked, getting the door unlocked and standing to push it open.
“I’m fine with lasagna.”
“Yeah, but do you like it?” Stiles asked, turning to Derek with his bat flung over one shoulder.
“It’s fine.” Derek forced him to face forward again, then thought better of it and moved past him so that he was in front. The chances of something attacking them from behind right now were slim, and if anyone got attacked in their duo, he wanted it to be him.
“What about dessert?”
“What about it?” Derek asked, voice low and eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“What do you want? I mean, we have ice cream, but I think I have some pie hidden away in the back of the fridge. You like pie?”
“Pie’s good,” Derek confirmed.
“What kind of pie do you like?”
“What kind do you have?”
“I don’t know, apple maybe?”
“Apple pie’s fine.”
“Yeah, but what kind do you like?”
That was about the time something exploded out of one of the classrooms and almost tackled Derek right through a wall.
Talk of pie was put on hold, and by the time they finished up and headed to Stiles’ place for food, the pie was forgotten entirely and was probably left to rot in the back of the Stilinski fridge.
The dinner invites continued for well over two months. Derek was secretly thrilled about it, but he didn’t make that known to Stiles because he didn’t need him boasting. Though he did notice Stiles slowly becoming more and more frustrated, despite not being sure why. They had a great time when they were together, and usually Stiles’ frustration disappeared within a few minutes, but it was kind of bothering him.
Derek couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was overstaying his welcome. Then again, Stiles was the one inviting him, so that made little sense, considering. Still, just in case, despite how much he didn’t want to, he declined the next invite.
Stiles asked if he already had plans, and Derek had said no. Apparently that meant he couldn’t back out, but Derek just kept insisting that he didn’t want to come over and steal the Stilinski’s food considering they weren’t exactly rolling in money. He tried to say it in a polite way, but Stiles’ cold silence on the other end suggested he might not have entirely succeeded.
A few hours later, Derek went out to one of the local diners, sitting alone in a booth in the back and asking the waitress to bring him whatever was on special. Then he stared out the window and watched cars go by, wondering what Stiles was up to now that he didn’t have a Werewolf to feed.
Apparently, it was stalking the Werewolf he wasn’t feeding, because the door opened not two minutes later, and Derek’s first breath in smelled like Stiles. He turned to see if maybe it was just the sheriff, since Stiles’ scent lingered on him given they lived together, but no. It was Stiles.
An annoyed Stiles, who was stomping over to him, a little damp from the rain that had begun to fall outside. He took a seat across from Derek, folded his hands together, and glared at him. Derek cocked an eyebrow, because he failed to see how he’d done something to upset him in the past few minutes given he hadn’t seen or spoken to him in hours.
“What’d you get?” Stiles finally asked.
Derek shrugged, folding his arms together and leaning back in his seat. “The special.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Oh my God!” Stiles blurted out, slamming both hands on the table. A few people turned to give him the stink eye, but Derek was used to his antics and just waited him out. “Do you know any other words?! Why is everything just fine?!”
Derek cocked his eyebrow, waiting for Stiles to elaborate, because he knew he would. It was impossible for him not to.
“Seriously, do you have any tastebuds at all? Like, everything is just ‘fine’ to you! Why can’t you ever give me a solid answer? Do you like meat? Or vegetables? Or chocolate? Or ice cream?! Like, what do you eat, Derek?! Do you ever eat anything you like? Do you even know what you like?”
Derek just stared at him while Stiles continued to rant about food. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he felt like he might have a fair idea the longer Stiles spoke. When the waitress inched towards them, giving Stiles a concerned look, Derek just shook his head at her and let Stiles continue to rant.
“—just make you something you like!” Stiles finally finished.
That was about when Derek fully tuned back in, since he’d kind of lost track of the conversation along the way. Stiles spoke a lot, Derek had learned how to half-listen to him when he got onto a tirade about something inconsequential. Like food, apparently.
“Wait, what?” Derek asked.
Stiles’ face was red, like he was legitimately mad, and Derek felt like he probably should’ve been paying more attention.
“I have been trying to make you dinner for months, Derek! But every time, you just insist that, ‘whatever is fine,’” Stiles said, bringing both hands up to do air quotes. “I just want a straight answer, that’s it! What do you like? There is a food that exists in this world that you enjoy, would it kill you to admit what it is to me?”
Derek just stared at him, a little confused and extremely embarrassed. This entire time, that was what this whole thing was? That was why he kept getting invited over? Because Stiles wanted to make him dinner and just wanted to know what Derek liked so he could make it for him?
“You want to make me dinner?” he asked, needing it confirmed, because what?
“I mean, I’ve already been making you dinner, but I’d like to, you know, make you dinner. Like, something you enjoy,” Stiles informed him, still looking annoyed and upset.
“Why...” Derek didn’t know what he wanted to ask first. Why did Stiles want to make him dinner? Why did it matter what he liked? Why did he want to make sure he made something Derek liked to begin with? Why had he been working so hard to discover what it was?
“Why?” Stiles repeated, seeming to decide on his own what the end of that question would be. “Because I like you, you moron. And I wanted to make you dinner so I could like, woo you! But you’re making it really difficult so instead, here we are, in a diner, with me confessing my undying love for you under these shoddy fluorescents and crappy radio music. This could’ve been a lot more romantic, but you didn’t want to tell me what you liked to eat so,” Stiles held out both hands on either side of himself, “here we are. I like you. Confession made. And you’re getting it over a special you didn’t even look at in a crappy diner. Don’t say I never try and give you nice things, because I tried for months, and you just kept insisting everything was fine.”
Derek stared at Stiles for a long while, listening to his heartbeat, smelling the nerves and sweat rolling off him in waves, watching his expression as it tightened more and more the longer the silence stretched out.
Stiles liked him.
Stiles had been trying to make him dinner, because he liked him.
The box in the back of Derek’s mind was suddenly extremely hard to keep closed because it was practically bursting at the seams to be opened.
Derek shifted his gaze to the waitress and raised his voice when she looked over at him.
“Can you cancel my order? I, uh—I’ve actually got plans for the night.”
The woman just rolled her eyes, muttered something about inconsiderate patrons, then turned to do as he asked.
Stiles looked stunned, but Derek didn’t give him time to think on it too much because he was worried he’d change his mind. He just stood up to climb out of the booth and motioned the front door.
“I’ll meet you at the store, we can buy groceries and head back to my place for dinner.”
“Okay,” Stiles said, voice a little strangled, but he scrambled out of the booth after him and hurried to the door, as if he was worried Derek would change his mind.
Derek was definitely not changing his mind. The box was open, he couldn’t close it now even if he tried.
Stiles headed left towards the Jeep, which was parked on the side of the road, but Derek headed right towards the lot for the diner. He felt uncomfortable the entire time he couldn’t see Stiles, because what if Stiles decided he didn’t want to have dinner with Derek? What if a part of him had been expecting Derek to say no and now that he’d said yes, Stiles was going to freak and bail?
It was an extremely stressful drive to the store, but when he got there and parked, he was relieved to have Stiles’ Jeep ease to a stop in the empty spot beside him. He climbed out first, Stiles almost falling out of the Jeep in his haste to follow, then motioned the store, the two of them walking in.
Derek grabbed a basket, because his fridge and pantry were embarrassingly empty, and then headed for the meat section. Stiles stuck close to him, looking around as if trying to anticipate what Derek was going to grab. He ended up getting some ground beef, then turned to head for the soup aisle.
“So, beef?” Stiles asked. “Beef is your favourite food?”
“Beef is my favourite meat,” Derek clarified. “My favourite food is something my mom used to make when I was little. I don’t know if it has a name, it’s literally two ingredients, and some people insist it has no flavour, but it’s the best thing in the world to me.”
“And the second ingredient is... broth?” Stiles guessed once they’d turned down the soup aisle.
Derek stopped in front of the large Campbell’s display and picked up a can of cream of mushroom soup.
“Mushroom soup,” Stiles said slowly. “Your favourite food is beef and mushroom soup?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Derek said with a small smile, putting two cans of soup into his basket.
They went to the produce aisle next so that Derek could once again tick off vegetables from his mental list of things he could say he’d eaten lately. He told Stiles which ones he liked, and let him grab whatever he thought looked best. Derek honestly didn’t have a preference with the dressing, so Stiles ended up grabbing a blue cheese dressing.
Derek was ready to head for the checkout, but Stiles was very insistent on dessert, and demanded Derek tell him what he liked. Derek honestly wasn’t big on sweet things, it just wasn’t something he actively went out to buy for himself, but he admitted to liking butter tarts and Stiles legitimately tore the store apart looking for some. He ended up finding them in one of the display cases in the bakery section and bought half a dozen of the little tarts, setting them in the basket.
When they reached the till, Stiles was very adamant that he was paying, since he was making dinner for Derek. It was hard to argue with that, so Derek just let him have his way, glad he hadn’t taken the opportunity to shop in general since Stiles probably would’ve still insisted on paying.
They drove back to Derek’s in their respective cars, and then headed up to the loft together. It wasn’t as clean as Derek wished it was, but Stiles had seen it in worse shape so he tried not to let it bother him. It was weird when he realized how different things were, now.
Stiles liked him. And because he liked him, things that Derek knew he’d seen before suddenly bothered him. Like that one time Derek’s sink had been full of dishes because they’d all been so busy trying to stay alive that doing the dishes hadn’t been a priority. Stiles had come by to do some research with him and had commented on Derek not having any clean cups.
Back when Derek’s box had been closed, and Stiles didn’t like him—in his mind, anyway—the sink full of dishes was fine. Didn’t matter at all. Now, though? Now Derek thought about it, and he was embarrassed by it, and he vowed to forever keep his apartment clean in case Stiles dropped by unexpectedly.
Because the recipe was Derek’s, Stiles ended up chopping vegetables and making the salad while watching Derek brown the meat in a pan and eventually add the soup. It was an extremely simple recipe, but it reminded Derek of his childhood and with the life he’d led since then, it brought back fond memories.
Once the food was ready, Derek took out some plates to split the meat between them. Stiles added the salad and dressing, and they both headed to the small table Derek had over by the window, sitting across from each other. Stiles took a bite first and shrugged while he chewed.
“It’s not bad. I mean, it tastes way better than it looks.” He smiled over at Derek. “So this is your favourite food, huh?”
“Yeah,” Derek said, taking a bite of salad. “It’s comforting.”
“Good to know. Next time we have a rough night, I’ll be sure to make it for you.”
“What’s your favourite food?” Derek asked. “Burger?”
“Actually, pancakes,” Stiles said, offering Derek a small smile. “I love burgers, don’t get me wrong, but my dad makes the best pancakes. Adds a dollop of Nutella in the center so that when you cut into it, chocolate oozes out. It’s the best thing ever.”
“I’ll have to grab the recipe,” Derek said. “So that next time you come over, I can make them for you.”
“Dad’s set the bar pretty high, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Stiles teased.
Derek smiled. “I think I can handle it. If I’m making it for you, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
The smile he got in return would’ve melted even an ice queen’s heart. They ate dinner in companionable silence, and if Stiles didn’t go home that evening, well, it wasn’t like anyone was going to say anything.
Derek kept the box open, and sometimes when he looked into it, he found that reality ended up much better than anything his box had offered him.
END.