[ stiles only makes the 'little werewolf' comment because derek has been so adamant in reminding him that that's exactly what he is, as if stiles doesn't know. first with the accusation of making dog jokes when he wasn't, and then implying that stiles has a problem with derek's lycanthropy, and then going further still to make sure stiles knows that he. is. a. werewolf.
he stands there with his hand out, waiting for derek to say something, anything, practically daring him to snap at him again over something either unimportant, or out of his control. but derek just - deflates a little, and stiles starts to feel kind of bad for basically kicking him out of their own home, which is not what he intended this to feel like, but he holds his ground. derek needs to do something and burn off this excess energy and stiles has absorbed too much of derek's anxious energy to realize that sending derek outside might not be the best solution here.
derek - obeys, and that brings a modicum of relief. stiles drops his arm and sighs quietly, and he's not sure what else he expected from derek other than obedience (which he didn't actually expect, at least not so easily), but it kind of makes him feel a little hollow that derek doesn't even say goodbye. no 'i'll be back later', or anything like that.
and then he tries to slam the door. stiles can tell just by the sound of it, loud and reverberating before the safety catches and eases the door shut the rest of the way. it pisses stiles off all over again, but the most he does is curl his fingers into tight fists at his sides and make a quick, frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he forces himself to relax.
for about a minute, stiles just stands there in the middle of the den. it's... uncomfortably quiet. he hates it already, but there's nothing to be done about it. he's not in the mood to put a movie back on just for background noise, he's not in the mood for music. stiles rubs his hand against the back of his head and starts to play back all of the things derek snapped at him for earlier, wandering away from the living room and back toward the bathroom.
he splashes some water on his face, rattles his pill bottle impulsively to check how much he has left as if he didn't do the same thing this morning, and then - he starts to clean up around the house. he picks up a pair of basketball shorts he left on the bathroom floor from his shower earlier this morning, and puts them in the basket with the rest of the dirty laundry in their bedroom. he takes his laptop and his journal out of the living room and puts them away in the bedroom too, wipes down the kitchen counters even though they're clean, contemplates just starting a load of laundry, decides to circle back to that. he fluffs the pillows on the couch with a little more force than he needs to, still feeling a little bit of the sting from derek's earlier comment about having to pick up after him.
he decides not to start laundry just yet, and opts for a shower instead, but all he really does in the shower is stand there with his eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the spray of water, because it helps lower his anxiety. he gets out before the water runs cold, dries himself off and towels his hair, styles it with his fingers, and he makes sure to take all of his clothes with him when he leaves for the bedroom.
stiles - doesn't often sleep early, but for a minute he contemplates trying to go to bed. he knows he won't sleep though, but he does pull on comfortable clothes; a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, plain and navy, and another one of derek's t-shirts only because it's the top one in the drawer and stiles just - doesn't care.
and then he doesn't really know what to do with himself. he still feels kind of bad for kicking derek out, and he feels bad about derek yanking his hand out of his, and he feels bad about - being a bad anchor. or maybe derek just got it wrong, and it's not stiles that keeps him grounded and - now they know. stiles tugs at the bottom of his shirt, and then wanders out of the bedroom, turning the light off behind him. he cuts through the den to the kitchen, opens the fridge, feels kinda mad about the milk again but pushes past it. he could make himself some dinner but he - doesn't really have an appetite, so he settles for water (can't get mad about that, water doesn't curdle!) and a peach he finds at the bottom of a drawer in the fridge. he rips a paper towel from the roll—
and he just sits at the counter and waits and eats in silence. ]
no subject
he stands there with his hand out, waiting for derek to say something, anything, practically daring him to snap at him again over something either unimportant, or out of his control. but derek just - deflates a little, and stiles starts to feel kind of bad for basically kicking him out of their own home, which is not what he intended this to feel like, but he holds his ground. derek needs to do something and burn off this excess energy and stiles has absorbed too much of derek's anxious energy to realize that sending derek outside might not be the best solution here.
derek - obeys, and that brings a modicum of relief. stiles drops his arm and sighs quietly, and he's not sure what else he expected from derek other than obedience (which he didn't actually expect, at least not so easily), but it kind of makes him feel a little hollow that derek doesn't even say goodbye. no 'i'll be back later', or anything like that.
and then he tries to slam the door. stiles can tell just by the sound of it, loud and reverberating before the safety catches and eases the door shut the rest of the way. it pisses stiles off all over again, but the most he does is curl his fingers into tight fists at his sides and make a quick, frustrated sound in the back of his throat before he forces himself to relax.
for about a minute, stiles just stands there in the middle of the den. it's... uncomfortably quiet. he hates it already, but there's nothing to be done about it. he's not in the mood to put a movie back on just for background noise, he's not in the mood for music. stiles rubs his hand against the back of his head and starts to play back all of the things derek snapped at him for earlier, wandering away from the living room and back toward the bathroom.
he splashes some water on his face, rattles his pill bottle impulsively to check how much he has left as if he didn't do the same thing this morning, and then - he starts to clean up around the house. he picks up a pair of basketball shorts he left on the bathroom floor from his shower earlier this morning, and puts them in the basket with the rest of the dirty laundry in their bedroom. he takes his laptop and his journal out of the living room and puts them away in the bedroom too, wipes down the kitchen counters even though they're clean, contemplates just starting a load of laundry, decides to circle back to that. he fluffs the pillows on the couch with a little more force than he needs to, still feeling a little bit of the sting from derek's earlier comment about having to pick up after him.
he decides not to start laundry just yet, and opts for a shower instead, but all he really does in the shower is stand there with his eyes closed and his face tilted up toward the spray of water, because it helps lower his anxiety. he gets out before the water runs cold, dries himself off and towels his hair, styles it with his fingers, and he makes sure to take all of his clothes with him when he leaves for the bedroom.
stiles - doesn't often sleep early, but for a minute he contemplates trying to go to bed. he knows he won't sleep though, but he does pull on comfortable clothes; a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, plain and navy, and another one of derek's t-shirts only because it's the top one in the drawer and stiles just - doesn't care.
and then he doesn't really know what to do with himself. he still feels kind of bad for kicking derek out, and he feels bad about derek yanking his hand out of his, and he feels bad about - being a bad anchor. or maybe derek just got it wrong, and it's not stiles that keeps him grounded and - now they know. stiles tugs at the bottom of his shirt, and then wanders out of the bedroom, turning the light off behind him. he cuts through the den to the kitchen, opens the fridge, feels kinda mad about the milk again but pushes past it. he could make himself some dinner but he - doesn't really have an appetite, so he settles for water (can't get mad about that, water doesn't curdle!) and a peach he finds at the bottom of a drawer in the fridge. he rips a paper towel from the roll—
and he just sits at the counter and waits and eats in silence. ]