15. Epilogue

When the loft’s doorbell rings, Stiles stays face down on the kitchen island countertop, clutching his coffee mug. He’s still a little (a lot) hungover from Peter and Chris’s week long wedding/mating extravaganza and he’s just grateful he’s not still drunk.

Derek is deep into poaching eggs and who knows what else because he’s a foodie dork who likes to cook them a proper Sunday brunch using only organic, locally-sourced ingredients and special order spices that cost more than gold per ounce. It’s food worth waiting for but Stiles doesn’t have the energy to be vertical yet.

The doorbell goes off again.

“Stiles,” Derek growls, still stirring.

“Fine! I’ll get the door!” Stiles peels himself up and grabs his coffee mug, because he’ll be damned if he goes anywhere without it before noon.

Since none of the building’s defensive wards were tripped, Stiles slides the loft door open, figuring it is probably his latest order from the ‘zon. Instead, a surly teenager is standing there barely holding on to a huge, no, absolutely humongous basket full of the strangest looking fruits Stiles has ever seen.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Stiles is not awake enough to process random fruit.

“You gonna take it or what?” The kid asks, pushing it against his chest.

“Yes, thank you,” Derek says, appearing from nowhere. He grabs the basket, throws a fiver at the kid then slams the door shut in his face. “Oh, starfruit! Are those lychees?” He croons at the massive basket of weird fruit and prances back to the kitchen like Smaug with his hoard, probably planning the weird fruit torts and popovers and who-knows-what he’s going to spend all week baking.

Stiles is still standing in front of the closed door, his coffee mug listing in his hands, when Derek calls out to him. “The card says this is from Peter and Chris! What did you do now ?!?”

Stiles groans and beats his head against the wall.