Stiles likes to fiddle with the red thread that ties itself around his little finger: plucking at it, twisting it, pulling it.

"Will you stop?" Derek asks with a huff and grabs Stiles's hand in his, tangling their fingers together in a way that makes his question moot.

Stiles presses a kiss to Derek's cheek and just fiddles with Derek's red thread instead; it leads back to his own, after all.