If Derek had thought dinner with the Stilinskis years ago was nerve-wracking, this?

This was worse.

Because this time, Sheriff Stilinski hadn’t just invited him — he’d specifically said:

“I want to have dinner with my daughter’s boyfriend.”

That word had nearly made Derek short-circuit on the spot. Boyfriend. After years of circling each other, near misses, broken hearts, bad timing, and even worse communication — that word finally applied. And now it was dinner time.

Again.

At the Stilinskis.

You were in the kitchen with your dad, helping finish the salad and pretending like you weren’t a bundle of nerves. Derek was standing stiffly in the dining room trying not to knock over the lamp with his very broad, very uncomfortable shoulder. Stiles sat on the couch with a mischievous grin, like a shark that smelled blood.

And then it began.

Dinner started normal enough — small talk, catching up, awkward comments about the weather. But it didn’t take long for Stiles to strike.

“So, Derek,” he said casually, “how does it feel to be officially introduced to the family only, what, a decade after you started staring longingly at my sister in the high school parking lot?”

Derek choked slightly on his drink. You blinked. Your dad raised an eyebrow.

You kicked Stiles under the table. Hard.

“What?!” he protested, rubbing his shin. “I’m just saying, slow burns are great and all, but this one aged like a fine wine.”

“I hate you,” you muttered.

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

The Sheriff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stiles, please let the man breathe.”

“I’m just saying! He’s come a long way from ‘this is private property’ boy in the woods.”

You groaned. Derek smiled awkwardly, ducking his head, ears turning pink.

“Anyway,” your dad said, giving Stiles a look and turning to Derek, “I appreciate you coming. I know it’s not easy, with everything going on, but I figured we were long overdue for this.”

“Yeah,” Derek said quietly. “We are.”

There was a pause. The kind that used to be uncomfortable — but now felt kind of earned. Hard-won. Like everything else between the two of you.

And then—

“So,” the Sheriff added casually, “any plans to sneak her out the window tonight or are we past that stage?”