crayola doesn't make a color for your eyes.

[hypercompetent]

let's get zesty.

Comments

[triskeles]

I played baseball and basketball in high school, in between watching Star Wars and Star Trek while trying to decide where my heart lie. [ Leaning a shoulder against the door once they rise to the porch, he angles his head a little to look more at Stiles than at where their focus is supposed to be. His attention has always been immediately drawn to Stiles, regardless of situation, so of course he gets it now. Especially when they're in the midst of flirting.

The corners of his mouth curl downwards even more, and he gently knocks his hip into Stiles' as he hears the occupants of the house light up with the ringing of the doorbell.

Stiles looks good, his hair ruffled and clothes fitting, flattering. Of course his eyes stay on him even as the door starts to open. ] May the Force be with you.

[ And then he straightens up, smiling charmingly at the housewife that opens the door. Obligingly, he lets her pull him in by his forearms, ducking to let her kiss his cheeks above his beard. ] Mrs. Johnson, good to see you.

[ And let the night begin. ]

[hypercompetent]

[ Oh my god.

Stiles is going to die tonight. He is clearly going to die tonight. He rolls his head back in what's basically an eyeroll and mouths "jesus frickin christ" at the sky, and tries to ignore the fact that his heart literally swooped into his stomach at a friggin' star wars joke.

This is so bad, it's not even funny.

Luckily, Mrs. Johnson comes around and Stiles reaches over to greet her too, leaning down to kiss her cheeks in return and offering her the cookies in his arms. She beams at him and Stiles tries to will the blush on his face--when she turns around to take their stuff inside, he elbows Derek in the rib and hisses "you're an asshole", and tries to pretend he's not kind of jittery and happy as they make their way inside. ]

[triskeles]

[ Rather than be disgruntled by Stiles elbowing at him, Derek just smiles charmingly at him in a completely different way than he does the older woman. She takes their cookies and the casserole and ushers them into the house, and he simply sets his hand in the small of Stiles' back as they go. It's for just a moment, like he's bracing himself for the inevitable avalanche of excited middle-aged women that have adopted him into their strange family, but then he's swept away like he predicted.

They keep commenting on the fact that he looks happier than usual, and think that they're so sly when they do, like he doesn't know exactly what they're implying every time they titter at him and look off to wherever the kindergarten teacher has been taken off to.

But he can't help but gravitate towards Stiles every time he's given the chance, when he's not sneaking off to the kitchen to escape from them for a couple minutes at a time before someone is sent to retrieve him.

He's so doomed. He really is. ]