Chapter Text
Stiles blames Scott for everything.
If Scott hadn’t decided that they needed to become lacrosse stars overnight and then developed a crush on Lydia freaking Martin’s best friend, Allison Argent, and then suddenly became good at lacrosse after months of working out, thus leading Scott to date Allison Argent and become co-captain, and of course Scott dragged him along, and if he hadn’t have done all that , then they wouldn’t both be sitting at the popular table alongside Derek Hale, who won’t stop glaring at Stiles.
It’s Scott’s fault, obviously, whatever reason Derek hates Stiles for. Stiles doesn’t understand; sure, he’s loud and annoying at times and doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut and he’s clumsy and has no boundaries or filter, which often leads to him having issues with personal space and—
Okay, he gets it.
Still, it’s entirely unwarranted. He’s just himself and if Derek can’t handle that, well, it’s not his problem.
He chews another carrot aggressively in Derek’s direction and glares right back as Scott sidles up next to him.
“Stiles?”
“What?”
Stiles turns to look at him and Scott has the puppy dog eyes on and Stiles just sighs, because he knows that he’s about to agree to something that he doesn’t want to, just because Scott is looking at him like that.
“ What ?” Stiles says emphatically the longer Scott gives him the puppy dog eyes.
“Will you come with me to Lydia’s party?”
Which is entirely unfair. Scott knows that Stiles is completely gone on Lydia and has always talked about going to her parties. However, he also knows that Stiles abhors the idea of spending even an iota of time with the lacrosse team outside of lacrosse practice. He’s not a “lax bro,” as the guys put it. He plays because Scott forces him to. He doesn’t like the sport or anything and he hates physical activity. The one good thing about doing high school sports is the access to team jackets and parties, but Stiles’ detest for the lacrosse players sort of gets in the way of all that.
“Scott, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…”
Ever since Stiles was a kid and especially after his dad got elected as Sheriff, kids branded him as a narc. Everyone stayed away from him and his “weird” personality only enhanced the image. Even people that were like him and liked the same things as him wouldn’t talk to him because of his dad, and everyone knew who he was, in order to give him a wide berth.
Stiles, at this point, has decided to give everyone else a wide berth, too. It’s just how things work now.
“I knew you were gonna say that, so I already talked to your dad and convinced him, but before you completely say no,” Scott says as he reaches into his bag, pulling something out and laying it in front of Stiles, “take a look at this.”
It’s the one Spider-Man comic that Stiles is missing for his vintage collection, even still in the plastic sleeve. Stiles looks at Scott.
“Dude, this must’ve cost a fortune,” Stiles says. Scott grins sheepishly.
“I knew you’d like some incentive.”
“This is a lot of incentive.”
“Well, maybe it’ll convince you to keep coming with me?” Scott asks hopefully. Stiles sighs, looks at the comic, thinks about how much he loves Scott, and looks back at him.
“Fine,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes to show he’s reluctant to go, but it doesn’t deter Scott, who throws himself on Stiles, beaming.
When Scott detaches himself from Stiles, leaning over to tell Allison, who is already smiling because she heard it all anyway, Stiles straightens, putting the comic in his backpack before looking up, straight across from him.
Derek is still glaring.
Stiles sighs and slumps in his seat, biting aggressively into another carrot.
+++
With Derek Hale, who is not in fact a member of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team, but rather the captain of the basketball team, his popularity brings the three most unlikely characters: Erica Reyes, the girl from middle school who used to have epilepsy but now doesn’t apparently and also almost exclusively wears red lipstick and leather of some sort; Isaac Lahey, the boy whose dad has been arrested more times than Stiles or his dad can count for domestic issues until finally his dad ended up in jail and Isaac went to live with the Hales; and Vernon Boyd III who is quiet, but his sister drowned in a lake when he was 13 and now he works at the skating rink and has a nice truck but doesn’t talk to anybody and people aren’t sure if he’s dating Erica or Isaac or both of them and everyone is too scared to ask anyway.
Derek and his friends go everywhere together. Lunch, basketball games, the ice rink; wherever you find one, you are guaranteed to find the other three skulking around somewhere. Derek is usually the leader too, and occasionally he has one of his sisters: Cora, who’s a sophomore like Stiles and is in a few of his classes, rude but she’s popular, like all the Hales; and Laura, who’s a senior, also popular, and has her own group of friends, though Stiles doesn’t understand how she’s friends with them because Laura seems just about too cool for anyone. And the contrast between Derek and his sisters is night and day. Laura’s fun and talkative and a little crazy, and Cora’s tough and badass and stands up for just about anybody when she sees any injustice. Derek, on the other hand, is quiet. He doesn’t speak, like ever. Well, that’s not true, but he’s always quiet around Stiles, just glaring at him, brows furrowed, mouth set in a hard line. Stiles wouldn’t call him talkative, or fun, or necessarily crazy. He’s closer to Cora, who’s more of a balance in between Derek and Laura, but even still, he’s standoffish, quiet, and scary. But he’s not like this all the time. He’s flirty with girls in the school hallway, turning the charm on and leaning against lockers; he’s chatty and jokes with his teammates; and he’s apparently good friends with Lydia Martin, which helps bring her into a higher form of high school royalty because of Derek’s natural exuding charm, which is nonexistent when Stiles is around.
Not that Stiles is paying attention to him or anything.
It’s just that he likes to know how things work or why. He gets into these research binges on Wikipedia and other sites, diving into academic essays and sketchy blog posts to find the answers he’s looking for. He’s naturally curious, and he knows “Curiosity killed the cat” but the full quote is “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,” which means for Stiles, he won’t rest until he’s satisfied. And he’s never satisfied, as it is, so he’ll never not be curious and it’ll never not be his downfall. A fatal flaw, like Scott’s is Allison, Lydia’s is Jackson, and Derek’s is probably stealing candy from children and wearing his leather jacket that he looks ridiculously good in when it’s 80° out.
Again, not that Stiles is paying attention or anything.
So when Friday rolls around and he’s getting ready for this party, he can’t help but be curious about Derek. Will he be there? Yes, he’s at every one of Lydia’s parties (not that Stiles knows exactly, he just has sorta heard it through the grapevine, and also not that he cares, obviously). Will his friends be there? Obviously, stupid question. What would he be wearing? Probably his leather jacket. Does Stiles actually care what he’s wearing? No, but it’s fun to make fun of him in his head.
He just doesn’t get Derek. And maybe, in another lifetime, that would translate into some different emotion other than absolute terror and fear and sheer curiosity, but as it stands, Stiles isn’t a fan of Derek because Derek isn’t a fan of him. Same goes for Jackson, or most of his classmates. They just leave a bad taste in his mouth, and Derek’s taste is the worst.
Not that he’s thinking about tasting Derek or anything—
The main reason he’s going is for Scott, but also for Lydia. Even though she’s dating Jackson and basically has been since 7th grade, Stiles holds hope out that one day she’ll realize that he’s nothing more than a lizard-brain jock who doesn’t care about her and is just using her. And on that day, Stiles will be there for her, like he’s always been, but, you know, from a distance because she, like everyone else, pretends he doesn’t exist and ignores him.
Because Stiles' second fatal flaw? Lydia . Has been ever since like 3rd grade when they did a science fair and everyone else did theirs on potato clocks or something asinine, but she , she did hers on the three body problem because she had already started reading college textbooks at the time and thought she could add something to the discussion. Stiles fell head over heels, but the next day, she had suddenly developed a more intense version of her personality and began hiding her intelligence from everyone. But Stiles remembered, and it kills him to see her downplaying her intelligence for people like Jackson, who doesn’t even care that one day she’s going to get into MIT and change the entire world.
Stiles just hopes he’ll be there to see it.
Stiles shrugs on his flannel over his Iron Man T-shirt and sighs, fussing with his hair. Scott finally convinced him to grow it out over summer, something that had to be done over summer because for the first two months, it looked horrible as it started to grow out. Now, it’s at a much more tolerable length and he can actually do things with it. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, because he’s never had this problem before.
He runs his hands through it for a solid minute before just giving up. The bedhead look is cute, right? He sighs. It’ll have to do.
He sprays on his special cologne before jogging down the stairs, grateful that his dad is working because going over the lecture (again) of what can happen at a teenager rager does not sound like a good time and, thanks to Scott, Stiles has already heard it twice this week.
Scott’s picking him up in his mom’s car and as Stiles calculated, he’s fifteen minutes late, so by the time Stiles actually makes it downstairs, after delaying getting ready, Scott is outside, hand on his horn, as Stiles locks the door behind him.
Allison’s already in the front seat, which always sours Stiles, seeing as that used to be his seat, but they’re dating now so there’s little that Stiles can do to change anything. Besides, it’s just a seat, so he doesn’t get too worked up about it anyway.
The first half of the ride to the party is filled with Scott and Allison’s chatter. Eventually, Allison swivels in her seat and says, “Are you excited, Stiles?”
Allison, because she’s perceptive—or worse, because it’s obvious—knows about his crush on Lydia. She knows that he’s looking forward to seeing her outside of school, especially considering it’s such a rare occurrence that he’s invited to these things.
(If he’s not, Scott doesn’t go. Recently, Jackson made a comment about Scott never attending anything, Scott had made a comment about inviting Stiles, and the next thing anyone knew, Stiles was miraculously invited, though, obviously not to his face, as Scott was forced to play the messenger. Stiles isn’t dumb; he realized what had happened, but Scott is his best friend and Stiles owed him one anyway, so here he is.)
“So stoked,” Stiles says, and the unease in his voice transfers easily. Scott looks at him in the rearview mirror.
“Hey, I thought you wanted to go?”
“I do,” Stiles says, because that’s not false. “It’s just… everyone is there and I don’t want to deal with people.”
Scott knows exactly what he means, like he always does. Scott and Allison are about the only people at school that really tolerate Stiles at this point. Allison even reaches back and pats Stiles’ knee.
“It’ll be fun,” she tells him. “Teenage rebellion, and I happen to know where all the best hiding spots are, so if you want to get away, come find me.”
She winks at him and Stiles, not for the first time, wonders how Scott got so lucky. He smiles at her.
“Thanks, Allison.”
“It’ll be good,” Scott says, pulling up to the curb. “Teenage rebellion.”
“Teenage rebellion,” Stiles echoes, taking in the house.
It’s a wonder how no one calls the cops. Lydia lives in a neighborhood that backs up to the Preserve, but still, he can practically feel the bass shaking the car windows from all the way out here. There’s no one outside, which might be a house rule, but all the cars are a dead giveaway, paired with the music, of what’s happening inside.
Allison leads both of them inside, dodging past the party goers. People say hi to Allison and Scott like they’re their own form of royalty. Everyone ignores Stiles, which he’s used to, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. At least nobody’s kicking him out, which did happen at Jackson’s birthday party in 7th grade.
For the first 30 minutes, the three of them stay together, then Allison goes to get a drink and Scott follows and Stiles gets stuck in a sea of people and by the time he escapes, he’s lost both of them. He sighs, heading to the kitchen, hoping to track them down.
He finds alcohol and pours himself a Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack. It’s not his first time drinking, but it’s his first party where he can drink, and he doesn’t love the idea of being drunk around people that aren’t Scott, especially around people that already don’t like him. But he’ll drink, find a place to hide, and wait it out until he can leave.
He should’ve driven himself.
He sighs and takes a long swig, glancing around the room.
The house is nice and it flows together easily. The kitchen is modern and pristine, minus the debris of the party: plastic cups and hard liquor and pizza boxes that Stiles imagines somebody brought because he really can’t picture Lydia Martin eating pizza. Most of the house is devoid of color, Stiles notes as he passes from room to room. Grays and tans and beiges, and the palest of blue. It looks more like a showroom than a house, something that Stiles never understood. His house is a mish-mash of pictures, throw pillows, flannel curtains that his mom hated, and old furniture that his dad refuses to get rid of because they “still work just fine.” The house looks the same as it did since he was a kid, full of crayon marks from when Stiles learned how to write his name, rickety chairs that are one wrong move away from finally breaking, and that one porch step that Stiles’ dad swears he’ll fix one of these days, not to mention the way the back screen door hangs practically sideways. All the glamor of having a nice house, he just doesn’t understand it. Must be something rich people do to fight off their inevitable boredom.
Stiles moves through the downstairs, through all the endless arches and open doorways, observing the party. It seems like something out of a coming of age movie. Stiles watches people laugh and make out and dance and he feels so detached from it all. He has no connection to these people, not anyone but Scott and tentatively Allison. They ignore him, don’t even look at him, and he realizes that he’s not sure he’ll ever have a place among him.
The idea leaves him sadder than he thought it would.
He drains his drink, returns to the kitchen, and pours another, even more Jack than Coke. He doesn’t have to drive, so what does it matter?
He wonders where Mrs. Martin is. If she works or knows to make herself scarce every Friday night, when Lydia throws ragers after the lacrosse games. Her dad’s not in the picture; Stiles remembers the day he left. Lydia was only 10, but she was so strong, kept her head held high and her upper lip stiff and ignored the whispers. It was the right move, because soon everyone became sympathetic, and eventually her friends. Stiles had been sympathetic too, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d had his dad take him to her house with a present for her, one of his favorite books, The Secret Garden . He had a feeling she had read it, but it was the thought that counted anyway. Her mom opened the door and took the book with a watery smile and thanked him. He went back to his dad’s car so happy, but Lydia never said anything about it, never approached him or thanked him or anything. That week had been one of the worst of his lives, nearly comparable, in his dramatic 10-year-old mind, to the weeks leading up to and following his mom’s death. Of course, they’re not comparable anymore as he’s realized how dramatic he was, but it was still rough.
But it hadn’t deterred him and it only made him more motivated.
And now here he is, still longing for a girl that’s hardly ever looked in his direction, still waiting for her to finally notice.
He takes another long swig. He can feel it now, making his body feel looser and more relaxed. The rigid tension in his shoulders starts to dissipate the more he drinks and when he finishes his cup again, he goes to get another.
When he looks at the clock for the first time all night, it’s nearly 11. His and Scott’s curfew is 12, so he figures he needs to find him. He has a feeling that they’re not upstairs, because Scott is totally a blushing virgin, though Stiles isn’t sure how much longer that’ll last, and he doesn’t seem the type to lose his virginity at a high school party. He sweeps the downstairs as he feels the relaxation really sets in. He glances at his watch again and determines after a few long seconds that it’s 11:13. It’s a 20 minute drive home and though Scott and Stiles live close together, Allison is 10 minutes out of their way, so he needs to find him quickly.
He makes his way outside, the one place he hasn’t checked. He hasn’t been out here yet and it’s nice, a pool and a hot tub and all these string lights and columns and ivy and it looks so cinematic that Stiles has to take a moment to take it all in.
“Stilinski,” a voice says behind him. He’d know that voice from anywhere and his mouth sours as he realizes what’s happening. “Enjoying the party?”
He turns around and sees Jackson and a couple of the guys from the lacrosse team. Just the sight begins to sober him up as klaxons start blaring in his mind. This is a dangerous situation, he needs to be ready for whatever happens.
“It’s fine,” Stiles says evenly, and it’s the wrong thing to say.
Jackson laughs. “Just fine? Isn’t this everything you ever wanted? I know how you hang on every word we say at lunch, waiting for the moment that someone invites you.”
Stiles takes a deep breath, knowing better than to respond. Jackson smirks anyway.
“Touched a nerve? Maybe you shouldn’t be here, Stilinski. You know, the only reason you’re even here is because of Scott, but it’s only a matter of time before he realizes that there’s better out there than you.”
Jackson punctuates his statement with a jab to Stiles’ sternum and Stiles pulls away sharply, shoving past Jackson and knocking into him, which makes Jackson laugh.
Stiles makes his way inside and downs the rest of his cup, dropping it on a table as a little act of “teenage rebellion.” He pushes past everybody, making his way out of the front door. He’s too drunk and too emotional to handle this situation properly. Normally, he’d make a snide remark back to Jackson, but hearing Jackson point out Stiles’ biggest fear ever since he and Scott joined lacrosse just knocked him off his game.
He sends a text to Scott, which he barely manages with a slowed reaction speed and shaky hands, the confrontation really starting to take effect on him. He has to retype it several times to make it legible.
curfew @ 12. headin home. should do same
He shoves his phone back in his jeans after looking at the time. 11:32. It’s probably a 40 minute walk home at a brisk pace and Stiles’ dad has his location and gets alerts when Stiles leaves and enters the house, so there’s no fooling him. It’s only 10 minutes late, though, so maybe his dad, for once, will be lenient. But probably not.
He could make it if he jogs, he thinks, starting the long walk home. Or catch the bus, maybe? But he doesn’t have a pass and he’s too drunk to jog without making himself sick, not that he’d be very fast anyway.
He makes his way almost down Lydia’s street when a car pulls up next to him. He ignores it, until the passenger side window rolls down and Derek Hale, of all people, is saying, “Hey. Need a ride?”
It’s the first time Derek has spoken to him, like, ever, and his face looks genuinely concerned, which is very scary on Derek’s face, because that’s not a patented Derek Expression™. He furrows his brows and looks around, trying to figure out who Derek is actually talking to.
“ Me ?” Stiles asks, turning back to Derek when he doesn’t see anyone.
Derek gives him a bitch face and it’s so Derek-like that it’s practically comforting, compared to whatever his face was just doing.
“Obviously,” Derek says, before leaning over and opening his passenger door. “Just get in.”
Stiles doesn’t know what’s worse: being late for curfew and incurring his dad’s wrath, or riding in a car with Derek Hale, who he is convinced hates him. It might not be Jackson-levels of hate, but that’s the whole thing: Derek doesn’t interact with him so he has no idea why Derek doesn’t like him.
He hesitates for another second before jogging over to get in the car.
Derek is quiet for the beginning of the ride. All he says to Stiles is, “Put your seatbelt on,” and actually waits for Stiles to do it before he takes his foot off the brake.
Around the time they get out of the neighborhood, Derek asks, “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset,” Stiles denies, because he’s purposefully not showing any signs that he’s upset.
“Yes, you are.”
“How do you know?” Stiles bites out childishly, not in the mood to be pushed.
Derek makes a noise that sounds almost like a frustrated growl, but Stiles isn’t sure. When he looks at Derek, his expression is neutral, meaning, for Derek, his brow is furrowed and his lips are downturned, not quite frowning, but definitely not happy. Stiles looks out the window instead.
“I just do,” Derek says after a long moment. “Are you gonna answer me?”
Stiles himself adopts a Derek Expression™, scowling out the window, watching the trees pass by. But it makes his head hurt so he sighs and shifts in his seat, turning so he’s looking inside of the car at the radio instead of Derek.
“It’s stupid,” he says under his breath. When Derek says nothing, he continues, “It’s Jackson, hence the stupidity. His opinion obviously means nothing, but he… he can just read me so well, all the time. He knows exactly what to say to piss me off. I guess we just do that to each other. Some times are worse than others.”
Jackson and Stiles, like most of Stiles’ classmates, have been in school with each other since kindergarten, not always in the same class, especially once Stiles was able to start taking accelerated classes. But Jackson knows everything about Stiles, who never has been good at hiding stuff, except from his dad and only as he got older and more comfortable lying. And Jackson uses all of his knowledge to his pick on Stiles, every chance he gets. At least Jackson has enough grace to not say anything about Stiles’ mom, just like Stiles knows not to mention the fact that Jackson’s adopted. Other than those two things, everything else is fair game, and Jackson presses that rule emphatically.
Jackson even knows about his crush on Lydia, which for the last five years, has been the main issue. However, now that Scott has become co-captain alongside Jackson, the teasing has turned more into how Scott is going to get sick of Stiles, which hurts more than the Lydia thing ever has.
Derek doesn’t say anything for a while, and Stiles feels a little more sober now as time passes. Still he’s warm and flushed, so he takes off his flannel, balling it up in his lap and texting Scott.
i no u have a clock on ur fone. curfew!!!!
When he looks up again, Derek says, “Jackson is a dick.”
It’s succinct and for whatever reason, it makes Stiles laugh. He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the nerves, but he laughs so hard that he curls in on himself. When he straightens, Derek looks… well, Stiles doesn’t know how Derek looks.
Stiles takes in Derek’s face. It’s surprise, he thinks. Derek is surprised. Stiles doesn’t think that he’s ever seen Derek surprised before, so Stiles is surprised at Derek’s surprise. Wow, maybe he’s not as sober as he thought.
Stiles clears his throat and looks out the window again, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.
His phone buzzes and he opens it to a text from Scott.
where r u??? were leavin now
Stiles replies.
already got a ride. call u l8r?
wut??? who????
drk hale
????!!???
call u l8r
Stiles puts his phone away again. Derek glances over at him.
“Is that Scott?”
Stiles squirms. “Um, yeah. I kinda ditched him back there. He’s just wondering where I am.”
Derek doesn’t say anything again, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard Stiles. Stiles slumps further in his seat.
When he glances out the window again, he recognizes where they are.
“Oh, just turn left here,” he says as Derek is already turning. He glances at Derek, but he’s the picture of neutrality, face betraying nothing.
Stiles doesn’t say anything as Derek pulls up in front of his house. Stiles looks over at him.
Derek glances at the house, then him, and, oddly enough, looks almost sheepish.
“My mom thinks it’s important to know where people are. Like your dad or Chris Argent.”
“Chris Argent? Allison’s dad?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, face closing off again. “Family friend.”
Stiles nods and hesitates for a moment before opening the door and climbing out.
“Thanks,” he says before shutting the door. He walks up the sidewalk to his house, tripping over the loose step, and nearly faceplanting into the front door. “Smooth, Stilinski. Real smooth.”
He sighs and looks back. To his horror, Derek’s car is still there. Probably, like a gentleman or something, waiting for him to make it inside. Stiles throws a hand up awkwardly and then winces at the awkwardness, pulling out his keys and unlocking the door, shutting it quickly behind him. He sighs and heads up to his room, leaning against the window to watch, after a long moment, Derek’s car finally pulls away. He sighs, dropping onto the ground and leaning against the wall underneath his window. He pulls out his phone and calls Scott.
“Dude,” Scott says when he answers. “We were looking for you all night!”
“Evidently not very hard,” Stiles sighs. He can practically hear Scott’s guilt coming in waves over the speaker.
“Okay, fine, you’re right and I’m sorry. Did you have fun at least?”
“It was fine,” Stiles tells him. “Or it would’ve been if not for Jackson.”
“Did he say something to you?” Scott says, frustration clear in his voice. “Stiles, I’m sorry, I know he’s been a dick recently—”
“He’s always a dick, that’s nothing new. He just caught me with my pants down.”
Scott pauses. “Literally?”
“No, obviously not,” Stiles says with an eye roll. He stands up and closes the curtains, kicking off his shoes and beginning to undress. “Did you have fun?”
Scott sighs dreamily and that tells Stiles everything he needs to know. “It was great! Allison and I had a blast and we danced and it was just great. Hey, did you see Lydia? She looked great tonight.”
“No.” Stiles sighs. “I couldn’t find her. Or anyone, for that matter. Where was everyone?”
“The basement. You didn’t check the basement?”
“I didn’t know there was a basement.”
“Oh. Well, next Friday, I’ll bring you there, okay? We’ll stay together the whole time!”
“ Next Friday?”
“Please, Stiles? You said—”
“I know.” Stiles sighs again. “Fine. Just don’t ditch me again.”
“Promise I won’t,” Scott tells him, and Stiles can practically hear him crossing his heart. After a moment, Scott says, “So… Derek Hale?”
“Don’t remind me,” Stiles groans.
“What’s all that about?”
“I was walking home. He pulled up, asked if I needed a ride and I had curfew to meet and couldn’t find you, so I said yes. That was it, really.”
“And… Derek Hale did that?”
“Yeah, I was surprised too. I don’t know why, I mean he acts like he can barely stand me most of the time, so I don’t know what the purpose was, but that was it. I mean, he barely spoke a full sentence to me. Strong Edward Cullen vibes.”
“Huh.” Scott is quiet for a long minute. “Weird.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, maybe he’s just being nice,” Scott decides optimistically.
“Sure,” Stiles says noncommittally.
There’s a silence and then Scott says, “Well, I guess we’ll see on Monday.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow?”
“Always.”
“Okay, I’m going to bed, man, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay, night, Stiles.”
“Night, Scott.”
Stiles hangs up and checks the clock. 11:58. He sends a quick text to his dad, not that it matters because he can see when Stiles arrived home, but he tells him goodnight anyway and his dad texts back a few minutes later telling him to get some sleep, which he couldn’t agree with more.
He collapses into bed having just a second of peace before facepalming as he realizes that he left his flannel in Derek’s car. It was a careless oversight. In his haste to get out of the car, it got left behind like a wounded soldier and he cringes thinking about how to ask Derek for it back. It’ll have to wait until Monday anyway, because no way is Stiles approaching Derek anywhere other than school.
He’ll just wait until Monday and then approach Derek at his locker and ask for it back. Easy. It’s not a big deal anyway, it’s just a flannel. He tries to reason with himself, but he wants it back. It’s his and it complicates things so if he gets it back, then that ties up all the strings and then he never has to hear about Derek driving him home again.
He sighs and closes his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep.