Chapter Text
Okay, so this is probably the reason Stiles should stop showing up at his friends houses uninvited. Although, in his defence, it was usually Lydia or Scott who took the brunt of it! How was he supposed to know that his venture through the woods to the infamous Hale House would lead to an incredibly unfortunate and uncomfortable event!? See, logic always works its charm in the end.
Anyway.
So yeah, Stiles might have shown up to see Cora at 8pm on a Wednesday evening, arms decorated in thin plastic bags filled with far too many ingredients. Thinking back on it, he probably didn't need a twelve pack of eggs, but he sort of just panic-purchased any and all ingredients he might need in a surplus amount, so...
He had fully intended to have Cora swing open the door, wearing that same disgruntled but accepting expression she always wore in reference to Stiles, probably groan for a minute, then reluctantly let him in and the two would have a blast making brownies for a family of eight bears. That's what usually happens, anyway. So, you can imagine Stiles' surprise when the door does swing open (he had uncomfortably knocked with his elbows. It really wasn't his most graceful performance), he is not graced with Cora's signature frown, but instead, her brother's.
And Holy God did it suit him.
"Why are you standing on my porch?" Asked Derek Hale, crossing his arms and practically dripping with the air of someone who does not want to be there. Stiles, for once, could think of nothing to say.
"Um.." He said, uselessly. Why was he here again? Oh! Right, "Brownies." He lifted his arms up weakly to show off the bags dangling there, although it was futile, because that many overflowing, crinkling bags was sort of hard to miss. Stiles would've face palmed if he could use his hands effectively.
Derek Hale's frowned deepened, and honestly he should be an eyebrow model or something because they were actually their own life force.
"I don't want to buy anything. Goodbye."
Ah, Stiles could see where the confusion has come from. Though he was a little offended, he was clearly way too old to be a boy scout. Just as Derek moved to slam the door in Stiles' face, he called out a desperate, "No, wait!"
Reluctantly, Derek inched the door back open, a deep sigh escaping his mouth. Which, rude. This was clearly inconveniencing Stiles much more than it was Derek.
"Yes?" The guy drawled, tilting his head as if to show his disdain.
"I'm not selling brownies. I'm using your kitchen to make brownies." Stiles explained, purposefully mansplaining to make it seem as though Derek was incredibly slow. What? Derek Hale was rude, and Stiles Stilinski was petty! Nothing new there.
Derek looked at him as if he was debating throwing him down the porch. Or out of a window. Or from a rooftop building. "No. You're not."
Stiles rolled his eyes. The nerve. "Yes, I am. Is Cora here?" He asked, attempting to peer around Derek as if the girl would come bounding down the stairs with her headphones blasting heavy metal music. It happened.
The expression on Derek's face barely changed, but Stiles was more intune to reading people's expressions than most, so he noticed the slight realisation dawn on him. "You're Stilinski."
Stiles beamed at that. Progress. "The one and only. And I come bearing brownies." He paused, looking down at the bags still hanging limply from his arms. "Well, they haven't been made yet - but they will be brownies!"
Derek, once again, was staring with no shame down at the shopping bags, clearly contemplating some heavy decisions as the two stood in silence. Stiles whistled to himself, giving the guy some time to sort through his issues. Eventually, he huffed out, "Cora isn't here."
It was Stiles' turn to frown now. The only people Cora could stand to tolerate were Stiles and Lydia, and the two girls wouldn't have made plans without informing him at least, if not inviting him. In theory, Stiles could've texted to double check that Cora was actually home, but it was sort of a spur-of-the-moment decision, and he always felt like Cora had a sixth sense for knowing when Stiles was about to spring a plan on her, so this was odd.
He, yet again, looked down at the several bags on his arms, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with enough brownie ingredients to feed a small village. Apparently, Derek was thinking the same thing, because the next thing Stiles knew, the boy was gritting out a sentence that looked like it was putting him through a great deal of pain, "Would you like to come in and wait for her?"
Stiles blinked at the guy in confusion for a solid two seconds, before shrugging his shoulders and letting himself in. "Thanks, dude. I'm pretty sure I've lost circulation in my arms. I walked all the way here from the shop and let me tell you, these bags are not light."
Derek followed him through to the kitchen. "Why did you walk here?"
Dumping his bags on the kitchen island in the middle of the room, Stiles replied, "I honestly don't know. I had way too much energy to sit in a car and focus on the road, and I tend to panic-bake when I'm stressed. Cora usually eats all my brownies when I make them, so I figured I'd just take out the middleman of bringing them to school by baking them here." He explained, pulling out different ingredients and stacking them on the side to double check he actually had everything.
"Panic-bake?" Questioned Derek, eyeing the mass of ingredients warily.
"Yes, Derek. It's where I bake when I panic." He rolled his eyes, as if to say duh. No wonder this guy was known as a brainless jock.
Derek gave him the most deadpan look Stiles has ever seen, and Stiles simply refuses to be intimidated. Who needs it? Clearly, looking at his manic-level amounts of brownie ingredients, he had other things on his mind.
Despite Stiles and Cora hanging out every day of their lives, Stiles actually didn't see Derek around all that much, and he certainly didn't know much about him other than rumours and the odd complaint from Cora. Derek was your typical high school jock - top of the social ladder, uncaring attitude for anyone other than himself, and so hot that Stiles wanted to melt.
Not that he would ever say that last part out loud.
He was only a year older than Stiles and Cora, a senior, but Derek and Cora hadn't been that close in the few years since the accident, so he honestly never saw that much of Derek when he was over. Besides, Lydia's place was their usual hangout anyway, so he hasn't been given a mass amount of opportunity thus far.
"She doesn't usually hang out with anyone but me or Lydia, so there was a good 86.5% chance she was here."
Derek folded his arms over his chest and holy hell, his muscles were bulging out of his shirt! "You think my sister has no friends?"
Stiles snorted, "Oh, I know she has no friends. She's got that whole intimidating badass thing going on, silently brooding at the side, and she can't stand anyone for more than one sentence. She says people these days have zero common sense, which, fair."
For a moment, Derek said nothing, before he pulled out one of the stools by the kitchen island opposite Stiles and sat himself on it. He looked disinterested and like he'd rather be anywhere else, but Stiles took this as a sign that he was at least semi-invested in the conversation.
"She can stand you." It was said as a statement, but Stiles could hear the question underlying it.
He shrugged, but a small smile played on his lips. It hadn't been easy, befriending Cora. At the beginning, she didn't speak to anyone and point blank refused to participate in social situations. The Hale family - or, what was left of it - had moved back to Beacon Hills after the accident. Stiles admittedly had not seen Cora since they were eight, and it wasn't like they were even friends then. When Cora first got back here three years ago, she was determined to not get attached. She was so stoic that it almost looked.. lonely. Stiles had decided then and there that he was going to adopt her. And, like he said, it really wasn't easy at the beginning. The girl was rude, dismissive and downright passive aggressive, but the more Stiles pushed and encouraged, the less begrudging she became. From there it was gossiping and painting each other's nails and cuddling. Well, not quite, but it will be one day!
"Yeah, it wasn't easy." Stiles repeated, aloud this time for Derek's sake. "But I'm like a parasite. I wiggle under the skin until I'm comfy and then I cling and never let go."
"Or a leech." Replied Derek, expression unmoving. Stiles wondered if the guy knew how to smile. He probably did, but honestly Stiles would need proof to believe it at this point.
"Yeah, sure." He said, smirking. "That too."
There was a moment of silence, then. Stiles tended to fill silences with awkward rambling about subjects he knew far too much about from late night google-dives, but, yeah. It's been sort of a long night, and Stiles really just wanted Cora to come back so he could bake his damn brownies and then probably fall asleep on Cora's bedroom floor and wake up to all his brownies haven been eaten already.
"Make your brownies, Stiles."
Stiles' head whipped up, staring at Derek. Had Derek just read his mind? It felt like he had. He didn't know what expression was on his face, but it was probably one of pure confusion and scepticism, if he were to guess. "Um.. Cora?"
Derek shrugged, nonchalant. "Apparently you just do the baking and she just does the eating anyway. Start baking, Stiles. Your hands are shaking."
Stiles looked down, and sure enough, there was a slight tremor in his hands that had probably been present all evening. Damnit. Derek was right though. This would give his hands something to do, and Cora could be more of a hindrance than a help when it came to baking., but that wasn't what it was about. It was about the company - having a distraction.
"This is probably.. I mean- if you don't mind, could you, like..-"
"I'll stay." Derek cut in easily, breaking Stiles from the awkward stuttering mess of a sentence he was desperately trying to get out. He exhaled in relief,
"Thank you."
So, Stiles started baking his brownies, and Derek sat there in silence. Half on his phone, half watching. It was a little intimidating, just being silently watched like that, but at least there was another presence in the kitchen and not just himself and his erratic heart.
They didn't talk - not really. Stiles asked Derek a couple times where things were, but apart from that they were quiet. It felt sort of nice, actually. Companionable silence. It usually wasn't Stiles' thing, but it felt comfortable with Derek. He wasn't going to expand on that thought, so he focussed back on his brownies.
After the first batch had finished in the oven, he left them to cool as he put the second batch in and got back to mixing together the third. Once they had moderately cooled down, he shoved them over to Derek.
"C'mon," he said with a grin as the other glanced up from his phone, "be my taste tester, my connoisseur."
There was a slight twitch to Derek's lips, quick and fleeting, before picking one of the brownies up and giving it a try. Stiles watched as he chewed and swallowed, relying on Derek using his words because his face really wasn't giving anything away. Then,
"This is so fucking good."
A blinding grin broke out across Stiles' face as Derek finished off his first brownie. "I'm glad you think so, because there's about four more batches left to go. I hope you're hungry, dude."
Later, just as Stiles was pulling the sixth - and final - batch of brownies out of the oven, he distantly heard the door open and close. Cora didn’t waste a second before she was stumbling into the kitchen like a cat on catnip.
“Holy fuck, you made brownies! I knew I kept you around for a reason.” Cora exclaimed, immediately attempting to grab one from the still-hot tray.
Stiles slapped her hand away, “Careful! Those are still hot. Have these,” he slid over a different plate and watched as she absolutely devoured one in about three seconds flat. It was weirdly kind of impressive.
“You’re going to make a great housewife.” Cora smirked, slapping his cheek gently. “Speaking of, why are you in my house?” She turned to Derek suspiciously, then back to Stiles. “And why are you socialising with my socially inept brother?”
Derek grunted in indignation. “Because I can be a polite host, you little shit.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “He’s been excellent company.” Derek shot him a deadpan look, but Stiles ignored it. “Unlike you, who wasn’t even here. I swear to god if you and Lydia did something without me I will be extremely upset. You know about my FOMO.”
This time, Cora rolled her eyes, biting into another brownie. “I actually wasn’t with Lydia, she’s volunteering at the care home tonight, remember? I was at the gym. I’m not surprised you didn’t realise, since you’ve never seen the inside of one.”
Stiles decided to wipe the smug grin off her face by throwing the oven gloves at her. “Don’t eat them all tonight, you’ll make yourself sick. I’m going home.”
Frowning, Cora said, “You’re not staying over?”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes, or any of my stuff for tomorrow.”
“Oh.” The girl said, looking wary. “You want a lift?”
Stiles smiled, “yeah sure. Let’s go, sugar.”
He was expecting the whack around the head he got as Cora walked past him to grab her keys. Since Stiles had been doing the washing up as he went, the kitchen wasn’t a mess, so Stiles made his way past Derek to the doorway of the room. He stopped when he got to it, turned around and said, “Thank you, Derek. See you later.”
Derek nodded his head at him, and that was the end of the conversation. Stiles got in Cora’s car and they drove home blasting Nirvana and disturbing the local elderly folk.
He found that, despite his initial bad start, the evening was.. surprisingly nice.
——
The second time Stiles ran into Derek Hale was on a Friday, and, somehow, it was even more odd than the first time.
School had finished for the weekend; if Stiles had to hedge a bet, he would assume the bell had rung about two hours ago, but he wasn't keeping a steady track of the time. He was in the art room because it was always empty on a Friday evening because what loser would want to stay later at school on a Friday evening? Well, Stiles apparently. Besides, his teachers, Miss Rayley, trusted Stiles enough to let him have his merry way with the art supplies.
He was working on his sketchbook, just rough drawings and outlines with a bit of shading here and there. It was meant to be a still shot of Lydia and Cora sat on the bleachers, a picture which he had taken just a few weeks ago with the intent to use as his guide.
When he was at home, Stiles preferred putting his headphones on and blasting music whilst he drew or painted, but when he was at school, he much preferred the peace and stillness that accompanied being in an empty building by himself. It was calm, which in turn made Stiles calm. Therefore, the sound of the door opening was loud and very apparent in the little bubble he had created for the past couple hours.
He turned his head, not sure who he was expecting to see - perhaps a teacher - but instead was surprised to see Derek Hale standing there in his lacrosse uniform, looking equally as startled to see Stiles.
"What are you doing here?" Derek questioned, tone laced with frustration. Stiles frowned at the rudeness,
"Um, art?" He replied back sarcastically, gesturing around the room, "Clearly. Did you get lost on the way to the field?"
"Ha ha." Said Derek, deadpan. The boy glanced back out the door and huffed. "Look, I was kinda hoping to hide in here for a bit. Could you leave?"
Stiles stared at him silently for a moment. Hiding? Hm. Suspicious. "No, I'm not going to leave, since I was here first and I'm also actually doing art. You're more than welcome to hide here, if you sit in silence. If not, find another room."
Derek huffed, annoyed. "I can't find another room now, he's roaming the corridors looking for me."
"Who?"
"Jackson Whittemore." Derek answered with gritted teeth. He glanced back outside the door quickly. "He's been trying to hang out with me for weeks for, fucking, I don't know, popularity points?" Stiles snorted. Derek sure seemed like a blast. "But I really can't stand him and there's only so many excuses I can make. He was stood waiting by my car and I just-," He paused and huffed again, looking back out the door before blanching. "Shit, he's coming."
That was genuinely more words than Stiles had ever known Cora's brother to say in one go, so the guy must be desperate. He rolled his eyes and relented, "Just.. get under the table. I'll cover for you if he comes knocking."
Derek seemed like he wanted to refute, but he was apparently even more desperate than Stiles thought, because he dove under the table which was covered by a large sheet to stop paint getting on the table beneath it, making it perfect for hiding. Stiles attempted to act natural as the door was once again opened, this time by Jackson Whittemore.
"Stilinski."
God, his voice was so jarring. Egotistical prick.
"Whittemore." Stiles replied, refusing to look at the guy.
"You seen Hale around?"
"Cora?" Stiles asked, purposefully playing dumb.
"Why the hell would I be looking for that freak? No, I'm looking for Derek, obviously." Said Jackson, glaring with all his might at Stiles. He wasn't affected. Three years of this had made it really old. His fingers did clench tightly around his pencil when Jackson called Cora a freak, but he knew if she was here she would have just laughed and probably punched Jackson around the face, so he tried not to get offended on her behalf.
"Oh. No. You should probably try somewhere he's actually likely to be, Jackass- I mean, Jackson." Stiles smiled innocently at him and watched in satisfaction as he clenched his jaw.
"No wonder you have no friends, Stilinski. You never know when to shut the hell up. I mean, you're sat here on a Friday evening by yourself. It's honestly pathetic. I would feel bad for you if I cared enough."
Stiles smirked slightly, knowing he was getting under Jackson's skin. It was, admittedly, a little funny to rile him up. "It's called expressing myself, Jackson, you should try it some time. Clearly you have a lot of pent up rage in there."
Jackson growled, called him a loser, and slammed the door shut. Stiles could admit to himself he felt a little bit of relief - at least it didn't end in Jackson slamming him into a wall or throwing the closest item at him. That's never any fun.
There was a minute or so of stillness, before Derek bashfully crawled out from under the table. It was honestly a sight to see, so he forced himself to commit it to memory to laugh about later when Derek tried to be intimidating again.
"You really just let him talk to you like that?" He asked, brows furrowed on his face. Stiles shrugged and picked his pencil back up,
"It really doesn't affect me anymore - heard it all already. Plus, he does it to everyone, so it's not special treatment."
There was silence for a moment, but Stiles could feel Derek’s eyes flicking between himself and the door. Stiles wasn’t sure what he was contemplating in his internal battle, but he figured it’d be easier to just let it play out.
Eventually, “he’s a dick.”
Stiles snorted in agreement. “Can’t argue with you there, Hale.”
“He called Cora a freak.”
“Yeah, she probably would have spat in his eye.”
“He called you pathetic.”
“Funnily enough, dude, I did hear it.”
Derek furrowed his brows and Stiles watched from the corner of his eye, gently rubbing something out on his paper. “Maybe I should kick him off the team.”
Stiles whipped his head up to look at him in confusion. Where the hell had that come from?
“Um.. is that even your decision to make?”
Shrugging, Derek said, “Coach basically kisses the ground after I’ve stepped on it. He’ll do what I say.”
Stiles blinked. This had taken an odd turn. “I mean, go for it if you really want to, but don’t do it for my sake. I don’t even watch the games so it will have zero impact on me if you kick him off or not.”
Another moment of silence. Derek began walking to the door, so Stiles figured the conversation was over and everything would go back to normal. Jackson remains on the team and also remains a jackass, he and Derek would stop interacting, and Stiles would continue to spend his Friday evening’s all on his lonesome. Everyone’s happy! Except Jackson, who’s never happy.
However, Derek paused with his hand on the door handle. He turned back to Stiles, and Stiles felt a shiver down his back at the intensity of Derek's gaze.
"You should." Derek stated, still with his hand on the handle, but making no move to open it.
Stiles was confused - he felt as though he had missed part of the conversation. He prized himself on being able to excellently read people's body language and expression, even people like the Hales, who'd rather kill themselves than shed a tear in front of someone. This, however, did not mean he could read people's train of thoughts. So, he was a little confused.
"I should.. what?" He questioned, tilting his head to the side.
Derek huffed gently through his mouth, watched the corner of his lips subtly tilt up for half a second. "You should come and watch the games."
Stiles felt his heart skip a beat. He ran about fifty calculations in his head in a singular moment in an attempt to decipher what Derek could mean by that. Invitation out of obligation? Invitation out of guilt for Jackson's behaviour? Invitation out of politeness? Invitation for the sake of more fans? Or - god forbid, don't make Stiles flustered - invitation for.. personal sake?
"Oh." He felt a deep exhale leave him in a rush and he tightened his shaky fingers around his pencil, holding on for dear life. "Yeah.. I mean, yeah. Maybe. I can.. what days are they on?"
"Thursday nights. See you, Stiles."
Stiles watched Derek walk out of the room, listened to him walk down the corridor until he was out of hearing range. Sat there and manually breathed for a few minutes. It was only then that he released his death grip on his pencil and turned away from the door back to his sketchbook.
He tried to get some more done of his drawing, but his mind was going 200 miles per minute and kept slipping back to broad shoulders in a lacrosse uniform, slight upturned lips and dark, intense eyes. He sighed and gave up after fifteen minutes, deciding to finish there for the night.
He pulled out his phone once he had gotten in his car and texted his group chat with Lydia and Cora. Who wants to go watch the next lacrosse game with me on Thursday?
Cora: ?????
Cora: No. Sweaty men. Cheerful mothers. People. No.
Lydia: Yeah, sure. Time?
Cora: fml
Stiles smiled and turned his phone off. He was meeting Lydia tomorrow for a study date, so he could fill her in then. The whole situation was just.. odd. A good odd, but odd nevertheless.
--
For some reason, after that, Stiles saw Derek Hale everywhere. They were crossing paths everyday at school with firm eye contact, whereas before, Stiles could count on two hands the amount of times he and Derek had strolled past each other in the hallway, and even less how many times they had actually looked at each other. Stiles, Cora and Lydia did end up going to watch Derek's lacrosse game. And the one after that. And the one after that. Apparently, despite her initial resistance, Cora was invested now, getting far too into the games that Stiles has started shuffling away from her on the bench so people don't associate them. Lydia just likes seeing shirtless, sweating men, but if you ask Stiles, she spends far more time watching Cora than actually watching the game.
He and Derek had hardly interacted since the art room, but like he said, they were seeing each other everywhere, so there was the occasional grunt of acknowledgement from the senior.
Today was a Tuesday, and Stiles had been in the library for a while after school in a futile attempt to ease his frantic heart. It, evidently, had not worked. To add to the situation, Stiles' jeep was in the garage again, so he had gotten a lift from Allison this morning. She had offered a lift home, but Stiles had declined since he knew he would want to blow off steam before going home. Tuesdays were the only evening his father had off, so Stiles liked to steer clear for as long as possible. Now, looking out at the pouring rain, Stiles was regretting not scheduling another lift.
He groaned to himself and glared down at his dead phone like it might magically turn it back on. He didn't bring a coat with him, so his hoodie was going to have to suffice. Just as Stiles braced himself to walk out into the torrential rain, he heard a yell from somewhere to his right.
"Stilinski!"
Stiles looked over, confused, and was surprised to see it was Isaac Lahey calling his name, sat under the smoker's hangout with Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd and Derek Fucking Hale.
See, the confusing thing about this whole situation was that Stiles and Isaac Lahey had scarcely spoken. After everything came out about Isaac's father, Stiles had tried to befriend the guy. He sort of seemed like he could use the company and Stiles figured he was very much Scott's type (he was, if Allison wasn't so great, Stiles would still be trying to set the two up.) Lahey, apparently, took Stiles' friendly advances as pity, and Stiles had never been screamed at so hard by someone who rarely had any words to say. He got the hint after that, and the two hadn't properly spoken since. So you can see why this might be a little confusing.
"Um, hi!" Stiles shouted back, raising his hand in a wave gesture without trying to seem awkward, which he definitely failed at.
Lahey made a 'come over' gesture, and Stiles contemplated ignoring him until his curiosity won out and he briskly walked the forty feet over to them and hoped desperately that his phone wasn't going to get waterlogged in his pocket.
"'Sup Stilinski." Erica Reyes greeted as he walked over, a cigarette hanging from her fingers. He smiled at her; he always thought the two of them might get along, but Erica wasn't exactly the most amicable of people. Most tended to ignore her lest she sink her fiery claws into you and entice you into ruining your own life. Okay, maybe that was a bit extreme, but she did have a reputation. Stiles liked her nevertheless.
"Hey, Erica." He nodded at her, before flicking his eyes back to Lahey and doing his best to avoid the sight of Derek Hale, cigarette in hand and smoke wrapping around his head like he was emerging from the heavens. Fuck Stiles' living life.
"You weren't about to walk home in that storm were you?" Lahey smirked, raising the cigarette to his face and letting the smoke exhale into Stiles' face.
"Yeah, actually, I was. Why? Are you invested in my life now?" Stiles asked with a roll of his eyes. Okay, maybe he was still a little bitter. Sue him!
"I certainly am." Erica grinned, stepping into his personal space and running a hand down his arm. Stiles smiled sweetly at her before flicking her fingers off, watching as she let out a loud laugh.
"Thanks honey, but there's not a great deal you'd care to see. So, good chat, but I'm off. I promise I'll stay away if I get sick. Bye now." Stiles turned around to leave, heart beating anxiously, when Lahey called out,
"Derek will give you a ride."
Stiles paused, still with his back to the group. He felt his heart skip a beat so he composed before he turned back around to face the oncoming storm, as well as Lahey’s smug, smug expression.
“Um,” Stiles began, unsure but putting back on his usual facade of confidence and weaponised sarcasm, “will he? Did Derek consent to this? Consent is very important, Lahey.”
Lahey raised his brows. “I’m aware. And Derek will very readily consent. Ask him yourself.” He tilted his head slightly to his right, where Derek was perched, leaning slightly against the wall. His face was carefully blank, but his brows were just slightly more drawn in than usual and - oh god. Stiles could read eyebrow speak!
Derek just shrugged his shoulders casually, inhaling whilst looking Stiles dead in the eye. It honestly turned him on a little bit, which he wasn't even ashamed to admit. One look at the guy and all was justified! Like, seriously, who actually looked like that?!
"Sure."
Wait what?
"So, to be honest, I don't totally know why you just agreed, since, y'know, we rarely speak, so I'm wondering if it was out of pity because clearly it is raining hard enough to drown a newborn baby, in which case, I don't want your pity lift, I can bravely face the big, bad rain. If it was out of obligation because Lahey - you're a dick, by the way - nominated you against your will, I am fine walking and you should not feel it weighed on your conscience now. To avoid this becoming even more awkward than it already is, I'm just gonna-"
Stiles made to turn around, but was blocked by a brick wa- oh, wait. That's not a wall. That's Vernon Boyd. Damn that guy is muscly! What were these people eating for breakfast?!
Throughout his speech, Erica had been giggling behind her palm and Lahey had been smirking that obnoxious side-smirk he does that made Stiles sort of want to punch him and also made him insanely attracted to him. Weird combo, but sure. Boyd, however, just sort of slipped his mind in the middle of his dead silence.
"This is a seriously confusing situation." Stiles murmured, peering up at Boyd with his chin practically resting on the guys' chest.
Boyd smiled down at him, all sweet and innocent, but Stiles could detect the sarcasm in there. "You should accept that ride."
Stiles blinked, then a slow smirk spread across his lips, "Damn, Boyd, I didn't know you were dirty like that." Boyd rolled his eyes in response and shoved Stiles away towards Derek. Derek just eyed him warily.
Erica giggled, "Well, have a nice time boys. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She winked at them before bouncing off, blonde curls swinging in her wake. Boyd followed after her, unlocking the car that was sat beside the curb, and the two clambered in. Isaac made to follow, stopped, turned back around with a smirk and said,
"Have fun."
Watching the three get in the car and speed off, Stiles began to think about how his life had seriously derailed in the recent months, then decided he didn't actually want to think about that, lest he spontaneously combust due to overthinking.
There was silence in the parking lot for a minute in which Stiles desperately tried not to stare at Derek. It only sort of worked. Side-eyeing was a thing.
"I think your friends want to kill me."
Derek raised a pointed eyebrow, putting out his cigarette. "That's ridiculous."
"You're right. They want you to kill me. Are you going to kill me, Derek?"
Derek rolled his eyes as he began walking towards his car, a fancy black Camaro that just screamed entitled. Stiles was all too happy to follow along. It may be a car for spoiled rich teens, but Stiles drove a crappy Jeep that fell apart once every two weeks and had nearly killed him more times than he had put it in park, so. Big changes. "I'm thinking about it. Don't drip on my seats."
Stiles stared at the man judgmentally. "What actually do you want me to do about that issue, dude?"
In response, Derek reached into the backseat and threw a towel in Stiles' face. Stiles glared as he peeled it off and began wiping himself down. "You really don't have to do this, by the way. I won't be offended if you dump me at the side of a road. Actually, I would be a little offended, but I would understand it."
"Get in the car, Stiles."
"Right." Stiles hastily got into the passenger seat as Derek did the same on the drivers side before immediately taking off with no prior warning. Stiles scrambled to get his seat belt on.
They drove in silence for a while, but it was actually quite comfortable, which was a new thing that Stiles was trying out.
"So," Stiles started, glancing across to Derek, "I didn't realise you smoked."
"You don't realise a lot of things." Replied Derek, tone flat. Stiles squawked with indigence.
"I resent that!" He exclaimed, "I am actually highly observant. Like how I have observed that smoking is bad for the lungs."
Derek raised an eyebrow with apparent boredom, "Thanks. I'll let my lungs know."
"Okay, sarcastic prick. I'll just die then. Don't worry about me and my care for your well being."
"Alright."
Stiles threw his arms up in the air, defeated. To be honest, he was sort of liking how their banter just flowed. It was.. odd, to get along with someone so well after existing in the same space for so long, but never truly crossing paths. He thinks maybe they should have been doing this the whole time.
"Why do you always stay at school so late?"
Okay, never mind. Derek ruined the easy flow, dammit!
Stiles chuckled nervously, feeling the uptick in his heart. "Don't know what you mean there, big guy. I don't always stay late."
Derek gave him a judgemental side eye. "You stay late on Friday's to get artwork done, but as far as I'm aware, you aren't in any clubs and you definitely don't need any extra credit. So why do you stay late?"
Stiles' heart sped up again once more and he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. Not only did Derek remember that he stayed behind on Friday's, but he knew that Stiles was in no clubs and had enough extra credit for a whole class of students. That was significant, he knew it was, but he wasn't sure why yet.
"I'm just- I don't know. Does there have to be a reason? Why are you interrogating me?" Stiles tried to sound accusatory, but his tone fell flat.
"I'm not interrogating you." Derek's tone sounded weirdly soothing, "We're having a conversation. I'm told it's polite in social situations."
Stiles rolled his eyes, amused. "Yeah, well, you would have to be told that."
"What? I can socialise."
"You can awkwardly socialise." Stiles corrected pointedly.
Derek grunted, indignant. "I'm doing fine now, aren't I?"
"Yeah, you are." Stiles nodded his assent. "Though, I'm told I am excellent in social situations - I have a calm and soothing presence. Take notes."
This time, Derek raised both his brows. "Calm and soothing are definitely not the words I would use, but I'll give you the excellence part."
Stiles grinned brightly. "Hell yeah you will, Hale!"
Derek almost immediately cut off his victory whoop. "You may be great at social situations and talking, but my silence has made me highly observant. And I can recognise avoidance when I see it." Stiles deflated. He'd hoped he'd gotten away with that one. "Stiles, why do you stay at school so late."
He chewed on his lip for a moment - nervous habit - and began playing with his fingers - again, nervous habit - as he stared out of the window, mulling over his response. Eventually, he went with, "Sometimes, home just feels too loud, too tense, like I'm just sat on the cusp of anticipation all the time. If I went to Lydia's, she'd make me talk it out. If I went to Scott's, I'd run into Allison and Scott - probably making out. If I went to Cora's, I'd be dealing with the most emotionally stunted person in the history of ever. So, sometimes it feels like the only place I can be where I can just breathe correctly."
There was a thick silence swimming in the air, more charged than the ones he and Derek often came across. He watched Derek's hand tighten minutely on the wheel and wondered if he'd said too much, been too honest. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, though. Even if Derek hadn't wanted to hear it, Stiles had needed to say it. He thinks maybe that he'd needed to say it for a while.
It was only a short minute later that Derek pulled into Stiles' - thankfully empty - driveway and switched the car off. There was a pause, a moment where neither of them moved, Stiles wondered if he was supposed to say something else. An apology or maybe to take it all back, tell Derek that he was just kidding and that he was fine. He decided to say nothing. He moved his hand to the door handle of the car, ready to get out, when-
Derek's hands circled his wrist, gripping. Stiles whipped around to face the other in confusion. Derek's face was carefully blank, but his eyes were intense and had Stiles holding his breath in anticipation.
"Stiles." His voice came out gruff, lower than usual, "If everything is too loud and you can't find a place to be safe, come and find me. I will be your quiet."
For once, Stiles had nothing to say. He felt his heart speed up, felt his mouth gaping like a fish. Derek's hand was still gripping his wrist - it felt like a lifeline. An anchor, keeping him grounded.
"I will." He replied eventually. He wasn't sure if he was intending to stick to that or not, but he vowed to at least try. "Thank you, Derek." They could both hear the words that were going unspoken, the 'and not just for the ride'. He didn't need to say it.
Derek gave him a single nod as his hand slipped from his wrist, so Stiles took that as his queue to leave. He didn't turn back around as he made his way into his house, but he could feel the eyes watching him nevertheless.
--