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How the fight started doesn’t matter. What the fight was about doesn’t matter. What matters is that when Stiles wakes up, he doesn’t get to to tuck himself into Derek’s side and enjoy that warm fuzzy place between sleep and awake. Instead, when Stiles wakes up, it’s to a half-empty bed, and Stiles feels the weight of that emptiness pressing on him.
He doesn’t bother changing out of his pajama pants, doesn’t bother making up his half of the bed—Derek always makes the bed as soon as they get out of it, insisting that a made-up bed always makes a bedroom look tidy—and instead pads his way into the living room, where Derek spent the evening sleeping on the couch.
Seeing Derek sprawled out on his stomach on the couch causes a lump to form in Stiles’ throat. He hates fighting with anyone, but especially Derek. They’d already gone through so much together, saved each others’ lives countless times, their lives are so intertwined that when they’re separated by anger, it’s like being cleaved in two.
Even worse, Stiles is one of few people who knows that the last time Derek spoke to his parents, they’d had a fight. Derek went to bed that night angry, and woke up an orphan.
So Stiles watches Derek’s back rise and fall with his breath and swears that he’ll always eat mushrooms on his pizza the way Derek likes, even though he thinks mushrooms taste like dirty sponges. He swears that he’ll never get exasperated with Derek for not understanding that Stiles likes to use the gray towel when he gets out of the shower because it’s the fluffiest and sometimes Stiles just wants fluff. He swears that, when he and Derek start talking again, Stiles will explain that he likes wearing that threadbare blue t-shirt with all the holes in it because it reminds him of Derek’s eyes when Derek wolfs out. He swears that he’ll tell Derek—
"How long are you going to stand there watching me sleep?" Derek grumbles from his position on the couch, not moving or opening his eyes.
The dam inside Stiles breaks and he crosses over to the couch and flops down on top of Derek, pressing his chest to Derek’s broad back and wrapping his arms right around Derek’s chest. Stiles buries his face into the back of Derek’s neck and breathes in. Derek smells like comfort and warmth and all the things that make Stiles feel safe.
"Mornin’," Derek hums. He twists his body around so that he’s laying on his side, pitting Stiles against the back of the couch. He pulls Stiles closer and lets out a small hum when Stiles places a tentative kiss on the tender, sleep-warm skin underneath his jaw.
Stiles presses his face into the juncture between Derek’s neck and collarbone. “I’m sorry,” Stiles murmurs, his voice muffled.
Derek palms the back of Stiles’s neck, his fingers grazing through Stiles’ hair. “I’m sorry, too.” Stiles arms tighten, pulling Derek closer, and Derek hears snuffles, feels a wetness on his skin.
"Hey," Derek says quietly. "Kiss me."
"I have morning breath." Stiles voice hitches through his tears.
Derek huffs. “When have I ever cared about that? Kiss me.”
Stiles kisses Derek’s collarbone.
"Stiles," Derek sighs fondly. He pulls away and looks at Stiles, thumbs away a tear from Stiles’ cheek. "I want you to kiss me because I didn’t kiss you goodnight last night. I want you to kiss me because I spent last night sleeping on the couch instead of wrapped around you. I want you to kiss me because we got into a stupid fight about laundry and how I bought the wrong detergent but you shrunk another Henley and I hate fighting with you and it will make me feel better. So could you please just kiss m—mmph."
Stiles lips crush against Derek’s before Derek can finish his sentence. It’s the kind of kiss that both of them love and hate at the same time. The feeling of relief that washes over them is palpable—Stiles can feel Derek’s joints relax, Derek can feel Stiles’ pulse even out—but the road they have to take to get to this kiss is not worth traveling.
There’s no frenzied action. Tongues don’t slip lazily over lips and into each other’s mouths. Hands don’t roam over taut biceps and firm asses. They merely press their lips to each others’ and reconnect, letting the silence weave their hearts back together.
The kiss ends and Stiles and Derek relax against each other. Derek rolls over onto his back and Stiles nestles himself into Derek’s side. His fingers skim up and down Derek’s stomach, and he feels content.
"Date night tonight?" he asks.
"What’d you have in mind?" Derek responds.
"Pizza, movie, and mind-blowing sex on the floor by the door because we can’t wait to get to the bed when we get home."
"Sounds like a good date night," Derek answers, resting his hand on Stiles’ ass. They lay there for a couple minutes before Derek clears his throat. "Y’know," he says, "that Henley that you shrunk would probably fit you nicely. You could wear it tonight, if you wanted."
"Ah yes," Stiles nods. "All is going according to my plan." He yelps as Derek gooses him.
"Just for that, we’re getting mushrooms on the pizza tonight," Derek grouses. Stiles grins and turns his face up, kissing his way up Derek’s jaw toward his mouth.
"Gladly."