It was their first night together as a couple, and Stiles had never been more nervous in his entire life.

They had spent much time together, yes. There had been group outings. There had been dates. There had been private moments in this very room. But this was something entirely different. Derek Hale was laying less than two feet from him, his breathing settling into a rhythmic groove as he began to doze off. Stiles, on the other hand, was having no such luck. He was too preoccupied with the billions of thoughts flying through his head

He had always envisioned their first sleepover – wait, was that what adults called it? – their first overnight adventure to be much more romantic. In fact, he had the entire evening planned out. For two weeks from now. His dad was going out of town for a weekend for a convention or something. Stiles had barely listened past the, "I'll be gone all weekend," part. He was going to cook dinner (Chicken Alfredo, his specialty), set the table with candles (long red ones – those were in most the movies), and have a Frank Sinatra record playing in the background. Once they were finished with their meal, Stiles would make a quip about how much he loved the current song, stand up, and ask Derek to dance with him. Dancing would mean touching, and touching would lead to kissing, and kissing would lead the couple up to Stiles' bedroom where a completely neat, tidy room would be awaiting them. The bed sheets would be charcoal colored and there would be incense burning in the corner.

The shifting figure next to him drew him away from the fantasy of such well-laid plans. Stiles sighed, curling into himself instinctively. This was nothing he had expected. This was nothing for which he had planned. Stiles was not prepared when, as he was walking in circles in his room, racking his brain for any sort of solution to his calculus homework, Derek Hale appeared at his window. Stiles stood completely still as Derek forced the window the rest of the way open (Stiles usually left it cracked – he liked listening to nighttime noises) and made his way into the room. It felt like an eternity before he could finally muster up the words, "Derek, what are you doing here?"

Derek shrugged, "The Argents are at my house. I thought it might be a better idea for me to stay somewhere else tonight."

Stiles eyes widened immediately. "Why? What do they want? You haven't done anything! Wait, you haven't, have you? Oh God, Derek. What did you do? You didn't give someone else the bite, did you? I told you it could only cause…"

Stiles was cut off by Derek's hand clamping firmly over his mouth, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I'm not sure why they are there, Stiles. And I'm not particularly keen on figuring out tonight." Stiles knew by the look in Derek's eyes that the subject was closed, and simply nodded understandingly. "Now, may I stay here, or not?" Stiles nodded again without hesitation. "Thank you," replied Derek, removing his hand from Stiles' mouth, revealing his tentative smile.

"So what do you want to do? I mean, I have homework, but we could watch a movie or listen to some music or eat - "

"I am actually very tired. I just want to get some sleep."

Stiles couldn't hide his disappointment. "Oh, okay then," he answered dejectedly. "Yeah, we can just do that." Derek didn't seem to notice. Derek was really bad at noticing anything his super senses couldn't pick up. Stiles would have to spell it out entirely. But tonight didn't seem like the night for that. Stiles shuffled over to his desk to quickly pile his papers into his backpack and turned around to view Derek sliding his shirt over his head, tossing it on top of the jeans he'd already shed. Derek raised his eyes to meet Stiles'. "Coming?"

Stiles nodded quickly, subconsciously licking his lips. He stumbled forward, moving awkwardly because of how unsure he was of the situation. Nothing felt right. Derek was already lifting the comforter (to reveal the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets. Stiles screamed at himself internally for even liking those stupid turtles) and getting under the covers. Stiles crawled in from the other side of the bed. He had scarcely immersed himself in the blankets when Derek flipped unceremoniously on his side, completely turning from Stiles, not uttering a single word. Stiles gaped at the boy, completely taken aback by his lack of – well, anything.

"Well, goodnight," he said softly. When Derek didn't reply, Stiles turn over, facing the opposite direction, cursing every minute that passed. None of this was in the plan! He systematically destroyed his hopes of that first romantic evening. Of cooking all day, making sure the food was beyond delicious and getting done just in time to hear the doorbell ring. Of answering the door and smiling as the handsome man in front of him greeted him with a soft peck on the cheek before entering. Of wiping the corner of Derek's mouth with his thumb to clear off the sauce Derek splattered on his face while enjoying his meal. Of feeling Derek's warm arms around him as they swayed to some cliché song with lyrics of love. Of Derek's lips against his. Of him leading the younger boy upstairs, pushing him down gently on to the bed and -

"Stiles, I swear to God," the deep voice growled over his head, "if you do not stop squirming, I will rip out your throat."

Stiles immediately stiffened. He didn't even realize he was moving. His internal struggle must have been portrayed by his external fidgeting. It was just a nervous habit. He never had to worry about it before. He never even noticed how much he rocked himself when he was in bed alone. But he hadn't accounted for this. He hadn't thought of how to handle these quirks around his moody significant other. Had Derek been in good spirits, he would have…well…done something nicer than threaten to murder the kid. Stiles cringed. He could have undone months of trust-and-relationship-building with one night of poor judgment. Being with Derek wasn't always easy – the boy could be downright awful one day and a true Romeo the next – but it was what Stiles wanted more than he could ever express. And he didn't want it to end. Not now. Not tonight.

His inner dialogue was abruptly halted when an arm snaked around his waist, pulling the younger boy closer to Derek, a sigh escaping the older man's lips. Stiles immediately slid backwards, molding himself against Derek's chest. He wanted to be as close as he possibly could, as if that would make up for all of the faults in the evening. Derek began tracing small circles into Stiles' hip with his thumb, never loosening his grip. Stiles could feel Derek's unspoken apology in the air, him finally realizing his inappropriate behavior that evening. Stiles wasn't even sure when Derek turned around. Normally, that type of banal question would have bothered him. But not right now. Not when Derek was holding them together, soothingly tracing patterns in to his side. Their breathing began to sync, and Stiles could feel his heart rate slowing, softly smirking as he realized what finally alerted Derek to his distraught thoughts.

Stiles felt Derek's soft lips pressing in to his head, and a wave of calm rushed over him. "That's better," murmured Derek into Stiles' hair. "Now, go to sleep for me."

Stiles continued smiling as, with the relaxation, exhaustion spread through him. He didn't realize his eyes were drooping as he listened to the rhythmic heartbeat of the man holding him, a strong and steady melody he hoped to always remember. Stiles began to speak, to try to express all of the feelings swelling inside him, but Derek shushes him softly, nuzzling his head against Stiles'.

The last thing Stiles remembers thinking before drifting off in to sleep is how happy he is that his intricate plans fell through. Because this, this moment, this feeling was better than anything he could have ever planned.