Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stiles groans as he blinks his eyes open. The morning light spilling in through the window sends a jolt of pain through his head, and he closes his eyes again and pulls the blanket over his head.

“You can't hide here forever,” Scott's voice sounds from the doorway. 

Stiles wants to argue that he very much can, but he doesn't. He glares up at Scott when he yanks the blanket off of him.

“Stiles, come on.”

“I'd really rather not,” Stiles says.

“I know,” Scott says, but I'm sure you'll feel better with some food on your stomach.”

Stiles knows he has a point as much as he doesn't want to admit it. So he throws the blankets the rest of the way off and sits up. It's too quickly he realizes a second too late as the room spins and a wave of nausea hits him.

Stiles covers his mouth with one hand as he stumbles to his feet. “I'm gonna be sick.”

He can't remember the last time he felt this hungover. How much did he drink last night? 

“It wasn't that bad,” Scott says. "I'm sure it'll all be fine. Probably."

“No, I'm really going to be sick,” Stiles mutters, pushing past Scott as his stomach rolls and he runs across the hall to the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet before he falls to his knees and empties the contents of his stomach inside.

“I'm never drinking again,” Stiles groans.

“You say that every time,” Scott says.

“Yeah, well, I mean it this time,” Stiles mutters.

He waits until he's sure the nausea has passed before getting to his feet and moving to the sink. He brushes his teeth twice, just to be sure. 

When he's done, he follows Scott to the kitchen where he has breakfast waiting. His stomach gives a rumble at the sight of the food, but he's still hesitant to eat much, afraid that it will come right back up.

He sighs and nibbles on a piece of bacon. He watches Scott from across the table. He's frowning down at his phone as he types something hastily on it.

Weird.

“What did you mean before when you said it wasn't that bad?” Stiles asks him. 

“Uhh nothing,” Scott says. He pockets his phone and grabs the empty plates from the table and brings them to the sink.

Stiles rises to follow after him, knowing he's hiding something. “Scott…”

A loud banging sounds on the door and Stiles winces as Derek’s voice reaches him. “Stiles, open up! I know you're in there.”

“What exactly happened last night?” he asks Scott. Because if Derek is here this early, demanding to talk to him, something must have happened. And that would explain why Scott was acting so shifty. “Scott, come on, what happened?”

Scott rubs the back of his neck. “You just, sort of declared your undying love for Derek and told him you were going to marry him one day. In front of everyone.”

“Stiles!” Derek calls again. 

“What did he do?” Stiles hisses.

“He sort of stared at you fondly and told you that you were drunk and could discuss it in the morning when you were sober,” Scott says. “And here he is, to do that, I guess.”

“Yes, here I am,” Derek says dryly. “Now will someone please let me in?”

Shit. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He looks at Scott in a panic. “What do I do?”

Scott shrugs and moves to the door, unlocking it to let Derek in. “Talk to him.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he stumbles forward to stop Scott before he can open the door. But it's too late, because Derek is standing there, staring right at him. 

Scott claps Derek on the shoulder as he grabs his keys and wallet from the bowl by the door. “Go easy on him.” He grins over at Stiles. “Good luck!”

Then he's gone with a wave thrown over his shoulder, leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

“Look, I know you're probably pissed, and I'm sorry,” Stiles says. “But I—”

“I'm not mad, Stiles,” Derek says, taking a step closer, then another, until he stands just in front of Stiles.

“You're not?” Stiles asks him.

“Should I be?” Derek questions.

“I don't know,” Stiles says. “I did get drunk and confess my undying love to you and ask you to marry me in front of everyone.”

“You did,” Derek says. His eyes scan Stiles’ face. “Did you mean it?”

“Does it matter?” Stiles asks him.

“Yes, it does,” Derek says. 

He's still looking at Stiles, gaze serious and if Stiles isn't mistaken, hopeful. Which is not what Stiles was expecting. But it's enough to give Stiles the courage to do something that only drunk him could do. Until now.

“I did mean it,” Stiles says. “I love you, Derek. And I know you probably don't feel the same and that's okay! I just…”

Derek sighs and closes the remaining distance between them and takes Stiles’ face in his hands. “You idiot.”

Then he's kissing him, and Stiles’ head is spinning for a second time this morning. But for a much better reason. Because Derek is kissing him. When Stiles’ brain kicks back online, he starts kissing him back, his hands fisting into Derek’s shirt as he pulls him closer.

“So, I guess this means you do feel the same?” Stiles questions.

Derek brushes his nose across Stiles’ cheek, down to his jaw, where he nips lightly with blunt teeth. “Isn't that what I said?”

“No, you called me an idiot and then kissed me,” Stiles says. “But you didn't actually say the words. Which you don't have to! I mean, if you don't… don't want to. We can just keep kissing. I'm cool with kissing.”

Derek pulls back enough to look into Stiles’ eyes. “I love you, Stiles.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, unable to keep the grin off his face. 

“Yes,” Derek kisses him again, slow and deep, leaving Stiles breathless when they finally pull back. “And by the way,” he says and takes Stiles' left hand in his and kisses his finger. His ring finger, Stiles realizes. “I'm going to marry you too, someday.”

Stiles laughs and wraps his free arm around Derek’s waist. “Awfully big promise, Der.”

Derek shrugs. “I'll keep it if you do.”

Stiles grins. “Deal.”

Yeah, that's a promise he has no problem keeping.