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He was not impressed.
He was not impressed at all.
In fact, he was so far from being impressed, the word may as well have been punted across the damn continent.
Stiles Stilinski waited while watching his dad try to die from oxygen deprivation. He seemed incapable of containing himself, and every single time he managed to calm himself down enough to breathe, he’d catch sight of Stiles once more and begin laughing all over again!
It looked like the only thing stopping him from falling over was the chair he was gripping like his life depended on it.
Or his balance, whichever.
Stiles just kept staring at him, unimpressed, waiting for the laughter to die down so that his dad would hear him over his ridiculous hyena impression.
“Son,” his dad said around a laugh, “what happened to you?”
“There was a mishap,” Stiles began, only to be interrupted by another bout of laughter and his dad letting out a loud exclamation.
“I’ll say!”
God was he not impressed right now. “Can you be an adult for two minutes?”
His dad held up one hand, as if asking him for patience while he continued to laugh until he eventually managed to get himself under some semblance of control and motioned for Stiles to continue.
Deciding it would be best not to repeat his earlier words, he instead just said, “Someone was being a piece of shit at the barber’s and they bashed into the guy cutting my hair. There was—he couldn’t fix it, so the best he could offer was this.”
He could tell his dad was struggling not to laugh again, and Stiles sighed internally, reaching up one hand to rub at his buzzed head.
He knew what this looked like. He’d had the misfortune of seeing himself in the mirror after it had happened.
If he’d still had his beard, he’d have looked okay, he thought. His beard would’ve salvaged it all, but sadly, he’d shaved it off yesterday because he didn’t like the upkeep. He didn’t know how people tolerated beards for so long, but while he didn’t like his, he’d never want his boyfriend to shave his off. Ever.
Ever. Beards were hot, and he felt like they suited him, and would’ve salvaged this atrocious haircut, but alas...
So now he was stuck with the same buzz cut he’d had back when he was a teenager. He knew it wasn’t a big deal, he knew it’d grow back, but so far he’d seen two friends and his dad, and all three had practically laughed themselves unconscious.
He was not looking forward to his boyfriend showing up for dinner, because he was sure it wouldn’t go any better than the rest of this had.
When he was sure his dad wasn’t going to die from oxygen deprivation, Stiles moved further into the kitchen to get the ingredients out for dinner. He could still hear his dad chuckling behind him, and turned to brandish a knife at him.
“Do you want dinner tonight?”
“I can get dinner without you,” was the pleasant response.
Stiles just scowled, because that meant something unhealthy, and his dad knew he’d never let that happen. Grunting that his dad was a dick, Stiles turned back to what he was doing and went back to chopping vegetables.
The food was almost ready to go, just the final ten minutes of simmering, when the front door opened. As if that sound alone had reminded his dad of his haircut, he could hear the man trying not to laugh.
Stiles sighed and turned to face the door from the stove, his dad at the kitchen table with his phone in one hand, clearly having been reading something or texting someone, when Stiles’ boyfriend walked in.
Derek Hale’s eyes found him in an instant, the small, private smile he always reserved for Stiles beginning to form on his lips before they froze and his eyes widened ever so slightly at the sight of him.
“Did you get mugged?”
And that set his dad off again, the man practically howling with laughter. It would be impressive any other time, except it was currently at Stiles’ expense and he didn’t appreciate how much everyone found his haircut funny. It had been an accident! He’d rather this than a random bald patch at the back of his head!
“There was a mishap at the barber’s,” he repeated, for what felt like the millionth time, despite only being the fourth.
“What kind of mishap, did he get blindfolded halfway through and spun around a few times like he was going to attack a pinata?”
Stiles gave his dad another unimpressed look at the way he was snorting and laughing like an absolute idiot.
“It’s not that funny,” Stiles snapped, though it didn’t stop the laughter any.
“You look like you’re twelve,” Derek informed him sombrely. “I’m going to get arrested for dating a twelve-year-old.”
“If you promise to take him off my hands, I promise not to arrest you,” his dad wheezed, still unable to stop laughing.
“Are you guys done?” Stiles asked dryly. “I’ve had this haircut before.”
“Yeah, when you were a kid,” Derek reminded him, moving around the table and coming closer to him. “When you had all that baby fat and the cut looked more adorable than anything. It doesn’t suit you anymore, your bone structure is too good to pull off a look like that.”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it.” Stiles threw both hands into the air in defeat. “I went to the barber’s for a trim, and he got bumped by an irrate idiot, and he cut off a huge chunk of hair. It was this, or a bald patch. If I’d known you would all turn into children, I’d have suffered the bald patch and just worn a hoodie until it grew back out.”
“Son, we’re just kidding,” his dad insisted around the laughter.
“It’s just hair,” Stiles snapped back, turning to the stove again, feeling irritated.
It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted the buzz cut, and he knew how dumb he looked, but did everyone have to rub it in like this? Laughing for a second was fine, but continuing to laugh long after the fact was getting old. Everyone he’d met up with so far had done that.
Except Derek, he supposed. To his credit, Derek hadn’t laughed, he’d just made comments. Stiles tried to appreciate the difference.
He ignored the other man when he kissed his temple, offering a soft greeting since he hadn’t originally done that upon entering. Stiles just grunted in response, staring down at the covered pot while he waited for the timer to go off.
Eventually his dad managed to calm down enough for him and Derek to have a conversation behind him, the two talking about their days while Stiles just listened. When the timer rang, he turned off the heat and uncovered the pot, bringing it over to the table and setting it down in the middle where he’d already put some heat-resistant cork mats.
“Smells good son.” His dad clapped one hand on his shoulder, but Stiles noticed he kept his eyes on the food.
“Thanks,” he muttered, turning to grab a serving spoon. He dropped it into the food before heading back to grab himself a Coke from the fridge, along with a glass of water for Derek. His dad had been nursing a beer since before Stiles had arrived, so he didn’t bother with anything for him, handing over the water when he reached the table. Derek took it with a nod of thanks.
Dinner felt awkward, and Stiles knew it was because he was annoyed, and he was pretty sure his dad felt bad for laughing so much. Derek seemed more than happy to just eat his food without a word.
Eventually when they were done, Stiles divided the leftovers into three containers, making sure there was plenty left for his dad so that he wouldn’t have an excuse to visit the diner during his next few shifts.
He’d probably still find an excuse—like forgetting the food at home—but Stiles could only do so much. His dad was a grown man, he had to take responsibility for his own actions sometimes.
“Thanks for dinner son,” his dad said when he and Derek were ready to head out. He gave him a brief hug, patting his back a few times before pulling away. “I’m sorry for laughing. Try not to worry about the hair. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”
“Thanks,” he muttered in response before heading out the front door. Derek bid his father a quiet farewell before following.
Stiles climbed into the Camaro and slammed the door, trying not to sulk as he buckled himself in and crossed his arms, slouching in his seat. He appreciated that his father had apologized, but it still didn’t solve the overall problem. If everyone started laughing at him the second they saw him, he was going to become a hermit.
Maybe he should wear a beanie. Was he too old for a beanie? He couldn’t be, he was only twenty-six, surely he could still rock a beanie? Or maybe a hat. A backwards baseball cap would probably be better.
He was still debating the merits of hats when Derek climbed in, shutting the door behind himself and starting the car. They drove in silence for a while, Stiles staring out the window as Derek fiddled with the radio. He didn’t seem happy with any of the stations he found and eventually just shut it off.
Stiles thought they’d continue on in silence, but then the beginning of Laufey’s Best Friend started playing, which meant that he’d obviously connected his phone to the radio.
He didn’t think much of it until the first two lines passed, and the following lines reached him.
“But I promise that I love you, even with that hairdo.”
Stiles turned to give Derek an unimpressed look—a lot of that going around today—and was rewarded with a small smile in return from his boyfriend.
“I’m sorry I made fun of it, it’s not your fault it looks like shit.”
“Like shit,” Derek echoed helpfully along with the singer, looking over at Stiles.
“I have never tolerated someone for so long,” the song continued.
“That part is true,” Derek offered, motioning the radio. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Yay me,” Stiles said dryly.
“You remember I once threatened to rip your throat out with my teeth, right?”
“You still threaten to do that.”
“It’s more sexual when I do it now,” Derek argued.
“You’re saying it wasn’t back then?” Stiles asked, turning to him and managing a small smile.
“No, back then it was more murderous.” Derek glanced at him with a small smile before facing forward. Stiles rolled his eyes and looked out his window again, the song continuing to play.
“It’s really not that bad,” Derek finally admitted. “I think we’re all just surprised. It’s a bit... concerning. How much you look like your old self. I think laughing is the easiest way to stave off the trauma of our past.”
“Well, hopefully the laughter starts to die down a little bit,” Stiles muttered.
Derek reached out one hand, grabbing at Stiles’. Stiles let him pull it up to his mouth and kiss the back of it before resting their clasped hands on his own lap, driving with his left hand.
“I promise I love you,” Derek said. “Even with that hairdo.”
“I hate you,” Stiles insisted in response to Derek quoting the stupid words from the song.
“No you don’t.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“You never hate me,” Derek argued, squeezing his hand more. “Tell you what, we can make it even.”
“Even?” Stiles turned to frown at him. “Even how?”
“I can shave my beard.” He glanced at Stiles before looking ahead once more. “Really make this a blast from the past.”
“You shave your beard, I’m breaking up with you.”
“Little harsh considering I’m dating a teenager and I’m not complaining.”
“I hate you,” Stiles said again.
“I can hear you lying.” Derek kissed the back of his hand again and Stiles sighed as they turned onto the long, winding road that led them home.
Stiles couldn’t promise he wouldn’t shave everyone else’s heads while they slept. Would serve them right, and would remind them that Stiles wasn’t someone to mess with.
After all, it was just hair. It would grow back.
END.