Derek’s knuckles actually stung. Being smacked across them with the sharp edges of a DVD case wasn’t something that he’d experienced before, and as such, he was slightly shocked.
“No, no, no, no, and no, babe.”
Derek was fairly certain that if Stiles had gotten him with the spine side of Deadpool, it wouldn’t have had the extra bite. The plastic corners were rough.
He gritted his teeth—it was horrifically difficult not to laugh—and tried to appeal to his fiancé’s sensible side.
“You said the superhero stuff should all be together, sweetie.”
Stiles waived the blue and red of Avengers: Civil War around and Derek felt his claws stir in defense of themselves.
“You can’t just sully…” Stiles snapped his mouth shut on the sentence, then said, “I thought you finally understood the difference between DC and Marvel?”
The shade of red Stiles’ cheeks were turning was not something Derek liked to see outside of far more pleasant activities. It was possible that he had underestimated the inherent seriousness of this situation.
“Son,” John’s voice was a very, very welcome addition to this conversation. Stiles turned to look at him, mouth still pinched in a tight line. “The screen is frozen or something? I mean,” John scratched the back of his head and looked a little bashful. “I can see what Melissa is typing to me, but I can’t type?”
Stiles sighed, stood, said to Derek, “Don’t you dare put anything on that shelf without supervision. Just, don’t move at all.” Then, he stormed down the hall.
Derek’s soon to be father-in-law, whose heart beat said he’d just lied to make his only child leave the room, sat on the absurdly comfortable new sofa and ran his hands back and forth a few times. Derek wished he was on it with him instead of on the new rug surrounded by more DVDs and CDs and games than a whole Pack, let alone one person, could ever need.
John cocked an eyebrow and asked, voice low, “How have you been with my boy for six years,” Derek’s own heart fluttered. How did John know— “I’m no fool, son. You’ve been together for more than half a decade and you aren’t aware of his thing about books and DVDs and anything else that has a spine with a title on it?”
“I,” Derek looked at the camp, purple Batman television series DVD in his hand and thought about it a moment and, maybe… “When he was at your house most of his things were in the closet. He didn’t have much with him in the dorms at college, and that last apartment he and Scott shared was so dusty all the time that neither of them ever really unpacked much. Everything was in labelled boxes.”
John shook his head. “That place was a dump from the outside. I knew there was a reason they kept making excuses about Mel and I going in, but we figured it was something supernatural.” He huffed, and then they heard a muffled cheer from the end of the hall at Stiles figuring out whatever John had ‘accidentally’ done to the computer. “He realized I turned the keyboard off, so I’ll keep this short. His mother loved to keep her books in a certain order. He learned it from her and it become more pronounced after her death. Has it spread to anything else? What did he do with the spices in the kitchen, shampoo bottles in the bathroom… I can’t think of anything else with labels, son. Help me out.”
Derek shook his head and managed a small, “No. As haphazard and annoying as usual.”
Stiles’ footsteps got closer.
“Good. If it all stays that way, then I don’t think it’s a horrible thing to have to live with. I’ll let you make your own decision on that, though. You’ve got a whole lifetime of it ahead of you.”
Pollution: making foul or unclean