Derek Hale isn't really sure what impression he gave that made the universe think that he needed to be surrounded by people who would not respect his God-given right to a laconic and isolated nature, but whatever it was, he would like to be informed so that he can never, ever do that again.

Stiles was bad enough, honestly. In fact, Stiles was about all he could feasibly handle at any given time. Then, somewhere along the way, Phoebe was (literally) dropped from the heavens, right on top of him, with a built in mission to apparently redecorate the loft.

(The loft doesn't need redecorating. The loft is fine just the way it is. These, among others, are the kinds of lies that Derek Hale tells himself to justify the fact that his bedroom doesn't have walls and there's a giant hole in one of the far areas of the loft.)

But no, a few weeks after he managed to acquire someone who baffles him even more than Stiles does, he comes home from whatever errand he was running to find that there are various patches of color rolled onto various walls and a pile of fabrics sitting on top of his desk. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where they came from.

"Phoebe?"