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Stiles thought he was prepared for everything. After all, he saw Derek topless more often than strictly necessary -- he still didn't understand why clothes seemed to fall from the werewolf's body all the time -- and he survived without making a fool out of himself. It was a close call that one time when Derek shifted into a wolf and then Stiles caught a glimpse of him naked when Derek shifted back. He saw the man work out, fight, lounge on the surprisingly comfortable couch in the loft, and all that went by without major flailing on Stiles' part.
The one time when Stiles almost lost his composure was when he saw Derek smile for the first time. It wasn't the flirty smile he once threw at the officer in the Sheriff's station, nor the smug grin Derek reserved for when he was right about something -- the one that was always a little more smug when it was Stiles who was wrong, but Stiles wasn't going to read too much into that. No, it was a genuine, shockingly soft smile, accompanied by a proud expression when Scott did a particularly good job at being an Alpha.
But even those moments have not prepared Stiles for what he walked in on when he came back from college. He knew that Derek was back in town, Scott had told Stiles about the additions to what was now the McCall pack -- Cora was around too, though less than her brother because she was at college most of the time. That was why Stiles went straight to the loft, wanting to have proof that Derek was indeed there.
"Yo, sourwolf!" Stiles called out when he reached the sliding door, surprised that he wasn't met with a grumbling werewolf before he reached the loft. "Anyone home?"
There was no answer, and Stiles looked around the room, so familiar and yet somehow completely different than he remembered. Of course, there were bad memories in here, sad ones -- Stiles still couldn't think of some of them without tears prickling in his eyes -- but it wasn't all that there was.
Derek had obviously redecorated, as Stiles noted immediately. The bed that used to be in the corner was now replaced by a cozy-looking reading nook, there was an actual TV set opposite the couch, and the kitchen corner looked well-used and lived-in.
"Oh my god, you have PopTarts, who are you?" Stiles said, mostly to himself, when he peeked at the shelves next to the fridge.
He'd have missed the noise of someone's footsteps coming from the spiral staircase completely had it not been for the low growl that accompanied them. Stiles whirled around, and as his eyes focused on the figure descending the stairs, he froze.
Neither of them spoke at first, Stiles because his brain was trying to compute and file what he was seeing, and Derek… well, Derek didn't speak because he looked like he was still mostly asleep. His hair was fluffy and messy -- Stiles almost reached out across the whole room with the sudden urge to run his fingers through it -- and he was rubbing his eyes slowly when he finally reached the bottom of the staircase.
Stiles remembered times when he'd seen Derek in sweatpants, though it was only on a few occasions. Each time the sight made his heart and breathing skip a little, but that was nothing compared to what he saw now. He couldn't tell now if Derek's sweats were hanging low on his hips as they usually would, because the dark red hoodie -- oversized, creased, comfortable -- was covering the waistband. One of the sleeves -- on the hand that Derek was using to rub his eye -- was rolled up, and the other was hanging low enough to reach the tips of Derek's fingers. Stiles' mind unhelpfully pulled up the image of a maroon sweater with thumb holes that he had rather fond memories of, but he shooed that image away.
"Hey Stiles," Derek finally said, his voice rough with sleep.
For a moment, Stiles just stared. His eyes ran over the details of Derek's face again, the sleepy blush on his cheeks, the little line that looked like an imprint of the corner of a pillow on the side of Derek's face.
"Hi… you… I'm sorry I just showed up," he blurted out then, when he realized that the silence was becoming awkward.
"'s okay," Derek said and shrugged, his words still a little slurred, "coffee?"
Stiles nodded, and the motion made his eyes drop down to where Derek's socked feet met the floor. It was unusual enough to see them covered, but what caught Stiles' attention was a familiar shade of green. He blinked as he tried to focus on the socks, and gasped when he saw a shape he would recognize anywhere.
"Dude," Stiles said, his voice tinted with shock, "are you wearing Yoda socks?"
The blush in Derek's face deepened, and he dug his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. Stiles glanced down at Derek's socks again and didn't miss the way Derek shuffled his feet -- the attempt to hide the socks futile.
"You… wow, okay, absolutely new information here," Stiles rambled, "You like Star Wars. You're wearing Star Wars socks. I think I'm in love," he finished.
He froze the second that his words left his mouth, and he could feel his eyes widen when his brain caught up to his mouth.
Two things happened then, almost at the same time. First, Derek's cheeks turned darker than they were -- Stiles dared glancing up for a moment before his eyes turned to the floor again. Second, Stiles' mind -- he wasn't sure if it was helpful or not -- made him realize that yes, he was in love with Derek, had been for a while without letting himself acknowledge it.
"Socks," Derek said in a deadpan tone after a while. "You think you're in love because I'm wearing Yoda socks."
There was a hint of … sadness? disappointment? Stiles couldn't quite nail what it was in Derek's tone that made his own heart clench a little, like it hurt to hear. The last thing that he wanted was to be the cause of that tone, so he quickly shook his head.
"No, I… no," he repeated the word with force, and then he took a step closer to Derek.
Stiles dared to look up again, to meet Derek's eyes -- the disappointment was now very clear in the man's expression, though it was clouded with more familiar determination and a hint of anger.
"It's not the socks, I swear," Stiles said, his voice barely audible though he knew Derek would hear it. "Well, it's not just the socks, because those are damn adorable," he rambled while he was taking cautious steps across the room. "I've just never… I've never seen you this…" Stiles paused, and then waved his hand to point to Derek's everything, and he let his mind try to find the perfect word to describe what he was seeing.
"Soft," Stiles finally settled on. "You look… soft," the word came out in a whisper just as he reached the spot right in front of Derek.
His hand was still in the air halfway up their bodies, and that close, Stiles couldn't stop himself even if he'd tried. He lifted his arm a little more, and his fingers brushed against a curl that was falling into Derek's face. It was soft, no product holding it up the way it usually did, and it curled right above Derek's eyebrow that was now lifted with surprise.
Stiles almost jumped when he felt Derek's fingers against his own hand, the one that was hanging by his side, because he missed Derek pulling his hands out of the hoodie pocket. Neither of them spoke out loud, but Stiles could see the questioning look, and he nodded when Derek leaned forward a little.
When their lips met, Stiles' hand dove right into Derek's fluffy hair completely, and he would've relished in the feeling more if it wasn't for the way his brain was short-circuiting at the thought that they were kissing. Just like the rest of him, Derek's lips were gentle and soft against Stiles' own, moving slowly like he was afraid that Stiles would pull away and run.
Derek chuckled when they paused, and Stiles frowned, wondering if Derek was laughing at him now.
"Yoda socks," Derek said instead, and he shook his head. "After all the years, it took socks."
"Asshole," Stiles snapped back, and then captured Derek's lips in a kiss again. "I don't know why I like you," he mumbled against Derek's mouth.
He thought he could hear Derek's voice mumbling "socks" between their lips, but Stiles' mind was already too caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings about how much kissing they had to make up on, and that he finally could.