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“Hey, Stiles?”
The beach is cold under his feet and the sun is getting set. The wind is bitingly icy, but Derek likes it, has always been more comfortable in cold than heat, ironically.
Stiles looks up from his bare feet. His face is enlightened by the sea, his hair wind shed, his cheeks red. The stupid blue and green beanie on his too long hair was a gag gift from Derek that Stiles pre-dictably never really stops wearing now.
„Stay with me, okay?“, Derek says.
It´s not a proposal, never will be. Derek doesn´t believe in marriage, at least not in a bonding way. He doesn´t need the symbol, the gesture, doesn´t see the strength or security behind it some people claim to need.
He doesn´t want any of this.
Stiles smiles, bright and small and soft.
He smiles like that more often these days. When Derek makes him cocoa in the evening. When he dances with the cat through the living room of the apartment, sleep still in his eyes and the pillow folds on his cheek. When Derek wakes up after him, pulling him nearer under the warm covers for just a minute more.
Stiles doesn´t smile so much anymore, the years, hard and too long, exhausting him, even him.
“Alright,” Stiles says, the smile still lingering in the corner of his mouth.
And this, this is everything Derek needs.