“This isn’t right,” Stiles grumbles as they walk through the fun fair.
“What?” Derek asks, confused, following Stiles from one stall to another.
They’re abroad together for the first time, out in Europe for a meeting with Derek’s extended family and the pack that gave Isaac shelter after… well, after Allison. One of the stops was in Ireland, because Stiles insisted, despite Derek’s explanation that his family came from old England. That’s how they found themselves at a fair, complete with food stalls, merry-go-rounds, air rifle challenges, and strength competitions.
But apparently that’s not complete at all.
“Where are the funnel cakes? How can you have a fair that doesn’t have funnel cakes?” Stiles says, his voice soaked with despair.
“Because no one makes them here,” Derek tells him, for about the fifth time in the past hour.
“But that’s not right,” Stiles grunts.
“Your Polish ancestors would cry at how American you are, despite your name and your heritage. It’s actually terrifying.”
“Yeah well, you don’t like tea,” Stiles says, but even as the words come out, he knows that the argument is weak.
Derek actually chuckles, making Stiles whip his head around in surprise. Sure, Derek is a lot less doom and gloom nowadays, but it’s still not a common occurrence for him to laugh.
“Yeah, that’s not a good point,” Stiles admits, and then looks at all the stalls again. “Really though, if there’s no funnel cake, what am I supposed to eat?”
“Because the twenty other options are not enough?”
Derek is eyeing a stall with hot dogs and burgers, and Stiles would laugh and point out the wolf stereotype, but he doesn’t want to irritate Derek’s mood even a little.
“Funnel cake is sweet, it’s not like bratwurst is the same. It’s actually very much not the same,” he says, and he leans into Derek’s side as they squeeze past a crowd of people.
“There’s always cotton candy,” Derek offers, and he nods towards a stall at the end of the row. “Not that I’m sure that giving you pure sugar is a good idea at any point ever.”
Stiles immediately perks up, and grabs Derek’s hand. Then he pauses, because they’re not quite there yet with their relationship, though they’ve been growing closer, and more than one werewolf mentioned the word “mate” during the numerous meetings on their Europe travels. Holding hands in public is different though.
“Come on then,” Derek says with an exasperated sigh. “But if you bounce once, I’m flying home alone.”
He doesn’t let Stiles’ hand go. Instead, he pushes through the people and makes space for Stiles between them all the way to the cotton candy stall. And he pays for the spun sugar. And continues holding Stiles’ hand even when it gets all sticky from the cotton candy. Which Derek kisses away from Stiles’ lips later… much later in their hotel room.