Derek wakes with a wicked pounding in his head. His mouth feels parched, the taste on his tongue stale, his throat kind of itchy. He doesn’t remember getting home or into bed, but there’s a glass of water on his nightstand. Carefully, he sits up, groaning at the feeling of sickness pulling at his stomach. He sits for a moment, blinking against the spot dancing in his vision, before he reaches for the glass. As soon as the liquid hits his tongue, he opens his mouth letting it drain back into the glass.
It’s vodka. He guesses it might be his friends’ payback for doing this to them each time he brought their drunk asses home. Derek’s annoyed, but he can’t help the tiny smirk stealing its way across his lips. He knows it’s a dick move, but the gleeful satisfaction he gets when his phone pings with incoming messages bitching about the prank is well worth it.
He had it coming, so it’s fine.
Derek drags himself out of bed, changes into a clean pair of boxers, and a shirt as he looks for his phone. He finds it in the back pocket of the jeans he had on last night, with a new sticker on the back of the cover, reading, #stanfordgetnaked. He doesn’t know how or when exactly he acquired it, or what it even means, but he kind of likes it. Getting naked is always a good idea, if you ask him.
When he opens the door to his room, the smell of pizza hits his nose. Derek sighs happily. Grease always helps curing his hangovers, plus, it means he doesn’t have to order and wait for at least half an hour to get his hands on food.
It’s quiet in the apartment, and Derek briefly wonders if Laura and Cora are out or just quietly nursing their own hangovers. He gathers it’s the latter, considering the heavenly scent of pizza. One of them had probably gotten up earlier and already ordered for all of them. It happened sometimes. Although Derek would, around witnesses, always swear that he hates going out and partying with his sisters, he actually enjoys it. They are, against all odds, quite fun to be around. He will not be caught admitting it out loud, though.
He’s watching Erica’s Instagram stories from last night as he steps into the open kitchen, letting his nose guide him towards the food. The last story is a picture of him, with the imprint of Erica’s trademark red lipstick high on his cheek and a ridiculous amount of glitter in his hair. He can’t even remember what happened there.
Absently, he grabs a slice of pizza from one of the boxes, thinking about grabbing a coffee as well. Derek holds on to the pizza slice with his mouth as he turns around to power up the machine, and glances up.
There are five pairs of eyes trained on him, all with different levels of confusion and amusement in them. He freezes mid-movement, staring back at them. Cora’s sitting among them, the most shit-eating grin stretched over her face as she raises her eyebrows at him.
“Hey,” somebody says, and Derek’s eyes flick toward the source. The slice of pizza almost drops out of his mouth, before he remembers it’s there and puts it down.
It’s Stiles. Of course it’s him, of course he’s here. He smirks at Derek, and it does things to him. He’s too hungover for this.
“What—” His voice comes out croaky.
Stiles’ smirk widens a bit, and Cora looks like she might just die from trying—and failing—to contain gleeful laughter.
“Study group,” she tells him. “Remember? I told you, like, five times.”
“Right,” Derek mutters, scrubs a hand over his face. Glitter flitters out of his beard, and his hand comes away covered in it as well. He barely manages to hold in a groan.
He decides against coffee, grabs his slice, croaks out a hoarse “Sorry” before he trods back to his room with as much bravado as he can muster.
It’s only when he crosses the big mirror they have hanging on the wall in the hallway that he realizes his entire head is covered in glitter. Erica’s lipstick is still on his cheek, he’s wearing Batman boxers, and the shirt that says, say hey if you’re gay on the front.
He doesn’t leave the room for the remainder of the day and manages to push this particular moment out of his mind until both Laura and Cora practically fall through his door, laughing like hyenas at his mortification.
Because, of course, Cora’s told Laura all about it.
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