[ derek keeps checking his phone, up until he's pretty convinced stiles has started working with rosalind and doesn't intend on using the walk from the elevator to her place to message him back. which is fine? he doesn't care. he totally doesn't care, and he totally doesn't keep checking his phone in case he missed a notification, and he totally puts stiles out of his mind until he messages him back. he's an alpha? he's a leader. he doesn't sit around waiting for boys to text him. he is a fucking adult.
anyway. stiles texts him back and derek, who had been lounging on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, bored and lonely, sits up hard enough to hurt his arm. he winces a little, but he also doesn't care. stiles is funny. derek doesn't laugh, but stiles is funny. ]
I do want to watch you work out. I'm going to make you do crunches until you tell me what you had planned. There's no escaping this.
[ make that thirty, stiles says, and now, derek's kind of annoyed. he feels like he's been waiting for stiles all day, and now he's making him wait even more? he feels like walking down to the lobby and dragging him up the stairs, jesus. so annoying.
whatever. it's fine. in the hour and a half stiles has been gone, derek's been trying to make the apartment feel like home, which has been kind of difficult, because he... hates the place, and it still looks brand new. the apartment is furnished exactly the same as it was when derek first moved in, certain places completely untouched and covered in a light layer of dust, and fluffing up a few pillows and buying snacks for the night isn't going to change that.
he picked up some food - pizza, because everybody likes pizza, and even though he considered actually cooking something himself, he doesn't have the guts to try doing that for someone else just yet - and a dickton of soda, just because stiles seems like the kind of guy who likes soda. derek doesn't. but stiles probably does.
the chess board is set up in the living room, a deep, reddish wood with cream and dark brown pieces. derek didn't wait until stiles was here to set the game up, because stiles is a shady piece of shit, and if derek hadn't doublechecked the board for strings or secret compartments when he bought it, he would have very quickly accused stiles of pulling some kind of trick if he were the one to get the game ready and derek somehow, inconceivably, lost. ssssso. he will accept any loss he suffers as fair. but he isn't going to lose.
so. yeah. fine. good. everything's good. he's not nervous. why would he be nervous. derek paces to the front of his apartment, walking back and forth in front of the door, straining his ears to hear the elevator ping at the end of the hall. ]
You know I didn't choose to live on the 89th floor, right? This is just where they put me. I'd move out and sleep in a box under an overpass, if I had the option.
no subject
anyway. stiles texts him back and derek, who had been lounging on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, bored and lonely, sits up hard enough to hurt his arm. he winces a little, but he also doesn't care. stiles is funny. derek doesn't laugh, but stiles is funny. ]
I do want to watch you work out.
I'm going to make you do crunches until you tell me what you had planned.
There's no escaping this.
[ make that thirty, stiles says, and now, derek's kind of annoyed. he feels like he's been waiting for stiles all day, and now he's making him wait even more? he feels like walking down to the lobby and dragging him up the stairs, jesus. so annoying.
whatever. it's fine. in the hour and a half stiles has been gone, derek's been trying to make the apartment feel like home, which has been kind of difficult, because he... hates the place, and it still looks brand new. the apartment is furnished exactly the same as it was when derek first moved in, certain places completely untouched and covered in a light layer of dust, and fluffing up a few pillows and buying snacks for the night isn't going to change that.
he picked up some food - pizza, because everybody likes pizza, and even though he considered actually cooking something himself, he doesn't have the guts to try doing that for someone else just yet - and a dickton of soda, just because stiles seems like the kind of guy who likes soda. derek doesn't. but stiles probably does.
the chess board is set up in the living room, a deep, reddish wood with cream and dark brown pieces. derek didn't wait until stiles was here to set the game up, because stiles is a shady piece of shit, and if derek hadn't doublechecked the board for strings or secret compartments when he bought it, he would have very quickly accused stiles of pulling some kind of trick if he were the one to get the game ready and derek somehow, inconceivably, lost. ssssso. he will accept any loss he suffers as fair. but he isn't going to lose.
so. yeah. fine. good. everything's good. he's not nervous. why would he be nervous. derek paces to the front of his apartment, walking back and forth in front of the door, straining his ears to hear the elevator ping at the end of the hall. ]
You know I didn't choose to live on the 89th floor, right? This is just where they put me.
I'd move out and sleep in a box under an overpass, if I had the option.