Chapter Text
So. Stiles wasn't running late this morning. He'd managed to get almost six hours of sleep, so he didn't really need coffee. He got dressed in his normal clothes. Okay, maybe the button-down wasn't exactly normal. But he rationalized that all his other shirts smelled. This was true, but wouldn’t have normally stopped him from dousing one in Axe and wearing it anyway. He makes himself feel normal by grabbing his orange hoodie.
All morning while getting ready, he told himself that he was just going to make some instant coffee and go ask his abnormal psych professor about some of the reading from last night. He was not going to go ogle that singer. Nope. He made his coffee, according to plan. Then on his way out the door, he left it on the counter. While he was walking, he pulled out his phone to check his Facebook. When he looked back up, he was standing outside Bad Coffee, Mean People. Err...New Moon Cafe. He checked the time. It was 8:07. Christ. He had almost an hour. Which he should be spending getting help with and hashing through his psych reading.
He walked in anyway. He made his way to the counter, noticing that it was still Boyd.
"Doesn't anyone else work here? Damn, you've been working every single time I've come in!" Stiles felt perturbed, but he was aiming for a friendly, joking tone.
Boyd remained expressionless, but to Stiles bafflement, he did answer. "My girlfriend, Erica, takes over at 9:30 so I can get to my 10 o'clock."
Stiles gaped for a moment. "Oh. I. You. You have a girlfriend. That's. Well, I mean, not surprising. It's not like you're unattractive or anything. You're just so...Hey. Sorry I called you a douche yesterday." Which, Boyd had totally been douchey. But Stiles did sort of feel bad for yelling it in the middle of the shop.
"It's cool. What can I get you? Black drip and a pastry?"
Stiles looked at him, trying to understand why he was suddenly so much less rude. Okay. Well. Stiles would just use this new found un-rudeness to his advantage and try to get the skinny on the singer. Who was singing behind him. Stiles resisted the urge to turn around and instead, answered the man.
"Actually, I'm not in even a little bit of a hurry this morning. So. I'd like a very big," he really needed to get a handle on the damn coffee sizes, "triple shot caramel latte and...hmmm. How's the pound cake?"
Boyd looked up from the cup he'd been writing on. "Heavy and moist. As pound cake should be."
Stiles nodded. "A piece of that and a white-chocolate-macadamia nut scone. That's what I had yesterday, right? It was excellent."
Boyd nodded again and moved to get Stiles' food from the glass case. Stiles leaned against the counter and watched the man singing for a moment. He didn't recognize the song, but God, that man's face. He hit a high note and tilted his head slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the man opened his eyes. He could tell that he wasn't aware of the coffee shop or the few patrons staring at him adoringly. He was in his own world.
Boyd cleared his throat. Stiles turned around a blinked, taking the plate with his cake and scone. He tried to shake himself from the stupor the singer had put him in. "So," he started cautiously. "You guys don't seem to be very busy. Is it always like this?" That seemed safe and...Dammit. Not about the singer at all. He would just have to work his way there.
Boyd answered him while preparing his latte. "Pretty much. There tend to be a few more customers when Erica's working. But mostly we just have a few regular customers that are always here when Derek is. They're the ones who keep us in business."
Derek? Was that...? Stiles turned to look at the man on stage. Boyd chuckled. Stiles whipped back around, sure his ears were playing tricks on him. There was a trace of a smirk on the man's face as he nodded, though, so maybe not.
Stiles tried to think of something subtle to ask about Derek. "I bet his girlfriend is one of them, huh?" That was...barely subtle.
Boyd shook his head. "Nope."
That was probably the least amount of information he could have given without just ignoring the question. Now Stiles was sincerely afraid that he had a girlfriend, but she didn't like coffee, so she just didn't come in.
Boyd handed Stiles his coffee and leaned against the counter behind him, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you studying?"
"Psychology," Stiles gulped. He was acutely aware that Boyd was looking him over. He would've thought "checking him out," except there was way too much judgment happening for that to be the case. He wanted to go sit down with his coffee and goodies and watch the pretty man-- Derek, he reminded himself-- sing.
"Really? You look pretty young to be so decided already," Boyd finally said after a moment of scrutiny.
Stiles found himself huffing. "I'm in the last semester of my junior year, thanks. I pretty much have it figured out." He handed the man a $10 bill.
Boyd actually grinned at that as he took the money. "Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."
" 'Sok. People always assume I'm way younger than I am. It's not really that big of a deal. Mostly it only affects my dating. Nobody wants to date a baby." He huffed again, and then chuckled. "Whatever, though, I guess."
"You got anyone right now?" And Boyd kept eye-contact, which was weird. But no hand contact when he handed the change back, which Stiles immediately deposited in the tip jar. Mixed signals!
What. Stiles rethought the "not checking out" bit. He was sure Boyd had just said he had a girlfriend. He really just wanted to go watch Derek and not deal with the weird 20 questions from Boyd. It was obvious he wasn't going to learn anything from him about Derek.
"Nope." He thought about saying, "But I have my eye on someone," but that sounded like flirting and nope. He did not want to encourage that. Bro has a girlfriend and Stiles doesn't need that drama.
Luckily, before Boyd can come up with another question, someone walks in. Stiles just sort of waved, sort of flailed in Boyd's direction before taking his things to a table. He opts for one about half-way to the stage and slightly to the left. That way he could watch, could see Derek's eyes when they were open, without worrying about Derek looking right at him. Button-down aside, he was not ready for that.
Stiles checked the time again. 8:20. He really did need to get some help from his professor. He decided to stay and listen for ten minutes, maybe talk to Derek if he took a break but probably just stare at him, leave by 8:30 and be able to squeeze in a solid 15 minutes of help before class. Yes. Perfect.
Derek starts a new song and Stiles makes himself focus. He has definitely heard it before. He finds himself humming along quietly.
“Would you want me
When I’m not myself?
Wait it out
While I am someone else?
Suppose I said
Colors change for no good reason
And words will go
From poetry to prose.”
Oh. That’s John Mayer. That’s one of his favorite John Mayer songs, aside from all the ones he had dedicated to Lydia in high school. He may or may not start crying and have to leave the shop early.
Derek is getting dressed up. He’s not going to lie about it. He puts on a really nice pair of dark jeans which he’s been told make his ass look “fucking amazing” (thank you Erica) and a dark blue shirt. It’s so dark, it’s practically black, but it’s tight in the right places and Derek wants the boy to notice the right places. He’s not really expecting him to be there, but he’s hoping. Really hard.
He spends more time on his hair than he does picking out his set list. He picks a few crowd pleasers, some Crosby, Stills and Nash, some John Mayer, and then figured he would just fill with whatever he was feeling like singing. He usually only did this when he’d had a long night or a rough morning, but the audience didn’t seem to mind. They were generally happy with whatever he ended up singing.
He gets to the shop, 7:30 as usual, fully not expecting the nameless boy to be there. He sets up on the little platform and starts off with Coldplay. He’s halfway through his set when someone comes in. Derek finishes the Sinatra song just in time to overhear the boy placing his order. A very big latte. Damn. Why was that so endearing?
He needed to just calm down and keep playing, because he couldn’t afford to get attached before he knew anything about him. He trusted Boyd to find out the important things.
But if you were to ask him later what he played while Boyd was talking to the boy, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. He was too engrossed in watching how this kid moved. Every movement was sharper, more exaggerated than anyone’s movements needed to be. Even when he nodded, the gesture was jerky and abrupt. And Jesus. Was he capable of standing still?
At one point he turned toward Derek and he had to jerk his gaze to the other side of the room or be caught staring. The same thing happens when a customer comes in and the guy moves to a table, slightly off center of the stage. Now Derek can’t look, so he focuses more on what he’s singing. The next song is actually one of the few John Mayer songs he really cares for.
“Suppose I said
I am on my best behavior.
And there are times
I lose my worried mind.”
More true than Derek would admit in any form other than song.
“Would you want me
When I’m not myself?
Wait it out
While I am someone else?”
And he was aware that it was too soon to be asking that of this nameless person, but he was asking it. He let his gaze flicker to him and saw that he looked thoughtful. But during the second verse the look changed and Derek had no idea what the new expression was. All he knew was that suddenly the boy was running out of the building, leaving his coffee and food untouched.
Derek was mortified. What had just happened? He finished the song half-heartedly. He wanted to just stop for the day, but knew that everyone would be disappointed. He sang two more short songs and finished just before 8:30.
He packed up quickly and went over to Boyd.
“What the hell?”
“I don’t know, man. But I know that his name is Stiles, he’s a psych major in his last semester of his junior year, and he is definitely interested in you. He basically asked if you have a girlfriend. He has trouble dating because everyone thinks he’s underage.” Boyd ticked each piece of information off on his fingers.
“He told you all that?” Derek felt his eyebrows doing complicated things on his forehead. He didn’t know why he was feeling vaguely jealous. He had asked Boyd to do this. And he knew Boyd wasn’t interested in…Stiles?
“Well. Everything except his name. I found that out from a friend.” Boyd flashed him a quick grin. Derek had learned not to question Boyd’s methods.
“Stiles. What the hell even?”
“I bet he’ll be back tomorrow. You should talk to him.” And that was new. Boyd was not an advice giver.
“Maybe. I don’t know what happened during Not Myself.”
“He looked distraught and he left his stuff. Ask tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” Derek sighed as he walked away from the counter. Derek was not liking the sighing thing. That was going to have to stop.