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Summary
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Stilinski?” Derek shouted as he tripped off the bleachers. “I could have bashed my fuckin’ head in.”
“And what a tragedy that would have been for the universe,” Stiles said teasingly and it took Boyd’s amused expression for him to realise that he sounded very sincere and not at all sarcastic. “I-I mean…You stink,” he said lamely, trying to get back his footing but Boyd’s smirk only grew. “A-and your grades suck.”
Derek paused in his struggle to untie his laces to give Stiles his patented What-The-Fuck-Is-Your-Damage-Stilinski look. “I’m top of my year,” he said.
“Well, your f-face is weird,” Stiles murmured, wincing as soon as the words were out.
Or the one in which Derek hates Stiles and Stiles hates Derek. But not really. Actually, not at all.
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