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“What’s this?” Stiles asks, looking at the box with a bewildered expression. It’s not Christmas or his birthday, yet Derek placed a perfectly wrapped box, complete with bow, on Stiles’s desk, presenting it as a gift.
“It’s for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, Stiles.” Derek sounds mildly aggrieved, which is fair considering how Stiles is acting. “For you.”
Stiles narrows his eyes, wary of the contents. “I don’t understand.”
“Jesus Christ, Stiles. Just open the damn box!”
Somewhere in Stiles’s mind, Brad Pitt screams, ‘What’s in the box?! ’ but Stiles dismisses it. The small box is lightweight when Stiles picks it up and shakes it, the only sound is Derek’s annoyed huff.
“Okay, okay. Jeez.”
Stiles slips his finger under one of the folds. Tearing the wrapping paper reveals a white box with a picture of what looks like a small speaker? No, that’s not right.
“It’s a sound machine.”
Stiles looks back up at Derek, face scrunched in confusion. “A sound machine.”
“I heard you talking to Scott about not being able to sleep.” Derek shrugs like it’s not a big deal. But it is.
After the nogitsune, it’s been difficult. Stiles is scared of falling asleep, of waking up somewhere he doesn't recognize, even though everyone tells him it's over and safe now. Well, as safe as they can be.
It’s also a big deal because Derek wasn’t around when he mentioned to Scott that he was having a hard time sleeping, considering Scott and Stiles were in Stiles’s bedroom, alone. Not that it’s odd for Derek to show up in Stiles’s room, but nothing’s been going on lately to warrant a random Derek visit, much to Stiles’s dismay.
“What were you doing here?” Stiles asks, assuming Derek was checking on him whatever night he eavesdropped.
Another shrug. “I was making sure you were okay.”
“Why? I’m not pack.”
“You are pack!” The words are said so vehemently that Stiles nods, no longer doubting that Derek considers him pack. Not when Derek’s expression softens, and his voice comes out strangled, “You are .”
Derek stands rooted to the spot, looking far too rigid. Stiles opens the box and sets the machine on his nightstand, reaching down to plug it into the outlet. It takes him a second to decide between the ocean and rain settings, but once he does, he turns the volume up and lets the crashing of waves wash over them.
“Come here,” Stiles says, toeing off his shoes before climbing into bed. He pats the spot next to him when Derek doesn’t move. “I think we could both benefit from this.”
Surprisingly, Derek complies, even laying his head on Stiles’s chest, cuddling up against him like Stiles is his personal pillow.
“So I’m pack?” Derek’s arms tighten around him, and Stiles smiles knowingly as he scratches lightly at the base of Derek’s head. It’s more than that. So much more, but they can talk about it later. For now, Stiles lets Derek anchor him. “Okay. Okay, Derek.”