A month of feeling like he was drifting aimlessly through existence, and he finally found something that felt meaningful and correct. Derek didn't waste a second once the door to the bedroom was locked. He crossed to Stiles and pressed him back, pinning him to the door so he could kiss him. It was hungry, and passionate, and he groaned against the teenager's mouth.

"Don't care," he breathed against his lips. And he didn't. What did a messy bedroom matter when he had Stiles close, and pliant, and perfect?