[ never in the history of dude, relax has a dude actually relaxed. derek's in such a horrible mood that anything stiles could say would feel like the equivalent of waving a red rag at a bull, but between being told to calm down, the way stiles clenches his teeth like he has to bear derek, and the way he drags out the word magically, like derek's being stupid and unreasonable - well, he just gets worse. ]
I'm not slamming doors.
[ he is slamming doors. he literally just slammed a door. derek shakes his head, rolling his eyes high up to the ceiling, and when he sighs, he sighs as loud as he possibly can. turning back on his heel and walking with hard, heavy clunks, derek makes a line towards the kitchen, needing to throw back a cold bottle of water after working so hard in the gym.
it feels like stiles is actively trying to piss him off. like he's going out of his way to make derek feel worse. he's not, obviously, but derek feels stifled and annoyed, like there's this buildup of tension that just needs to be released but can't be. seeing the milk laid out on the counter only adds to that.
there's a quiet, guilty voice in the back of derek's head telling him that he's overreacting, even before he's done anything. he's not being fair to stiles, and he knows that - but no matter how many times the words what the fuck are you even doing run through his head, he's so caught up in his own bullshit, he just... blows right past it. there's a flash of angry heat that ripples through his entire body. derek opens the fridge door, all but throws the carton back in its place, and slams it shut. ]
Cool. Awesome.
[ here we go. derek's telling himself to stop, but he just barks out a laugh, mean and frustrated. he's curled his hands into fists, thudding one lightly against the outer side of his thigh. ]
Hey, you know what I love? I love having big, chunky, solid pieces of curdled milk floating in my coffee every morning. I love dating someone I have to fucking pick up after.
[ like - stiles has working thumbs, right? he knows how to open doors? he knows how to put things away? he's - what - nineteen, now? legally an adult. not a child. he should know how to put fucking milk away. ]
You should know how to do basic, household chores. This-- this isn't even a chore, actually, this is literally just putting something away before it sours. Do you need me to show you how to do it? Here, watch -
[ and very, very sarcastically, derek opens the fridge door again. he pulls out the carton, gestures to it with one hand like a fucking magician's assistant, and then slowly, slowly slides it back into its shelf. he then delicately, delicately closes the fridge door again, because god forbid he slams it. ]
Oh my god? Holy shit. How did I do that? Didn't break a bone. Didn't even get a blister. Am I a god? Is this a fucking superpower? Call Professor Xavier, because we've got a mutant in the mix!
no subject
I'm not slamming doors.
[ he is slamming doors. he literally just slammed a door. derek shakes his head, rolling his eyes high up to the ceiling, and when he sighs, he sighs as loud as he possibly can. turning back on his heel and walking with hard, heavy clunks, derek makes a line towards the kitchen, needing to throw back a cold bottle of water after working so hard in the gym.
it feels like stiles is actively trying to piss him off. like he's going out of his way to make derek feel worse. he's not, obviously, but derek feels stifled and annoyed, like there's this buildup of tension that just needs to be released but can't be. seeing the milk laid out on the counter only adds to that.
there's a quiet, guilty voice in the back of derek's head telling him that he's overreacting, even before he's done anything. he's not being fair to stiles, and he knows that - but no matter how many times the words what the fuck are you even doing run through his head, he's so caught up in his own bullshit, he just... blows right past it. there's a flash of angry heat that ripples through his entire body. derek opens the fridge door, all but throws the carton back in its place, and slams it shut. ]
Cool. Awesome.
[ here we go. derek's telling himself to stop, but he just barks out a laugh, mean and frustrated. he's curled his hands into fists, thudding one lightly against the outer side of his thigh. ]
Hey, you know what I love? I love having big, chunky, solid pieces of curdled milk floating in my coffee every morning. I love dating someone I have to fucking pick up after.
[ like - stiles has working thumbs, right? he knows how to open doors? he knows how to put things away? he's - what - nineteen, now? legally an adult. not a child. he should know how to put fucking milk away. ]
You should know how to do basic, household chores. This-- this isn't even a chore, actually, this is literally just putting something away before it sours. Do you need me to show you how to do it? Here, watch -
[ and very, very sarcastically, derek opens the fridge door again. he pulls out the carton, gestures to it with one hand like a fucking magician's assistant, and then slowly, slowly slides it back into its shelf. he then delicately, delicately closes the fridge door again, because god forbid he slams it. ]
Oh my god? Holy shit. How did I do that? Didn't break a bone. Didn't even get a blister. Am I a god? Is this a fucking superpower? Call Professor Xavier, because we've got a mutant in the mix!
[ hoo boy. ]