Chapter Text
Derek Hale slept naked.
Stiles was aware of this because Derek Hale had obviously forgotten that Stiles was sleeping in his living room (again) and he was standing in front of the fridge. Naked. Stiles hadn’t really seen anything as Derek emerged from his bedroom, mostly because it was two in the morning and Stiles hadn’t even woken up when the bedroom door opened, but Derek was now standing in front of the fridge with a frown on his face. The light was illuminating his bare torso, or at least glinting a golden halo around one of Derek’s arms and down his side to the slope of his ass, and Derek had turned his head to look at the condiments in the fridge door, appraising his choices.
Mustard. Basically still mustard.
That was all Stiles could see. He didn’t want to sit up and let Derek know that he was caught wandering naked around his own apartment. That could be awkward. But, on the other hand, Stiles was a little curious to find out what Derek looked like naked. Stiles was kind of curious to find out what Derek looked like wearing anything but a suit.
(…like maybe his birthday suit)
From what he could see, Derek’s arm and flank looked decently toned. Maybe.
Ok, Stiles couldn’t see anything.
And it was such a shame.
Seriously, what was with Derek Hale and his fridge, anyway? He was tempted to ask, but Derek grabbed an apple from it and Stiles had a startling realization that Derek wasn’t weirdly obsessed with the fridge, Derek was stealing his food in the middle of the night.
Derek was such an asshole.
And also not even the littlest bit naked. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but as he walked back into his bedroom in the dark, not even noticing the glare Stiles was giving him, his pants made obvious swish noises against his legs. Stiles hated him a little in that moment for robbing him of a peek.
Apples for apples.
Seemed fair, right?
x.x.x.x.
It wasn’t that Stiles was giving in to the idea of being Derek’s maid or whatever, it was just that he was really starting to learn about real estate and apartments in New York City. For instance, a renter was expected to make 40 times a year what one month’s rent came to. So, if Derek’s apartment DID cost $3,000 a month, then Derek had to make about $120,000 a year just to be considered as a viable renter. Considering Stiles made about $3,000 a year, his options were pretty limited, and by limited he meant he’d have to find some kind of sketchy subletting situation where he wasn’t even listed on the lease.
So no, it wasn’t like he was buttering Derek up or anything. He just felt kind of bad that Derek worked so hard, coming home every evening looking a bit more beat down, only to have Stiles on his couch. And as much as the couch sucked, Stiles was aware that this was the nicest place he’d get to live while living in the city, so if scrubbing a few dishes and taking out the trash meant that Derek would allow him to stay a few more days, well, it was the least he could do.
Right?
Well, in theory, at least.
The reality of it was that Derek didn’t notice when Stiles cleaned his coffee mug or when the floor got swept. He didn’t notice that Stiles went out and replaced the shower gel he used when the container ran out, and he didn’t notice that somehow his clean underwear got back in his dresser drawer (Stiles drew the line at actually DOING Derek’s laundry, but he was vaguely impressed that Derek even remembered to put a load in the washing machine at all, considering that when he shoved everything back in the drawer there weren’t any socks left, and only a single pair of novelty underwear. So, you know, points for trying or whatever).
Stiles had two weeks to show Derek he was indispensable, and so far Derek had his head so far up his ass he hadn’t even noticed. It was beyond frustrating, because Stiles had an ultimate goal, and that goal was to stay for a bit longer than the two weeks that was motivated primarily by his bank account.
“I don’t really get it,” Stiles said to Scott, staring up at the ceiling. He was on the floor, giving his back a break from Michelle. “The guy is like one of the most absentminded people I’ve ever met. I seriously don’t know how he’s still alive. I don’t know how he’s still employed.”
“Maybe he’s just singularly focused on his job.”
“Mhmm,” Stiles grunted, not really agreeing. “I don’t think a job exists where you just forget about the rest of your life. I’m surprised he even bothers coming home at all. He left at 5 AM yesterday and returned at 11 PM. I think he’s losing weight. I think I’m WORRIED about him, Scott. Something is seriously wrong. Brainstorm with me. What could Derek do that has him so… how did you put it? Singularly focused?”
“I don’t know, maybe he’s a contract killer trying to take down the king of some foreign country during the five hours the man is on a layover at JFK.”
Stiles gasped in a scandalized manner. “Betrayal! We agreed we weren’t going to see the movie Jackson got an itsy bitsy part in! What happens if we all support his movies? People watch them, that’s what! And what happens when people watch his movies? He’ll get more roles. There is absolutely no way I want to see Jackson’s face staring at me during the next superhero franchise. Do you know how painful it will be to see his face on a billboard in Times Square? I’ll probably accidentally wander into traffic and get hit by a cab. And it will be a mercy!”
“How did you know what I was talking about if you didn’t see it?” Scott questioned, clucking his tongue in a chiding manner. “We all saw the movie. It was a dumb pact, because of course I was curious, dude.”
Stiles was silent for a moment. “Thank God, it’s been killing me not to say anything. He got killed by a frisbee. I haven’t seen anything so glorious since the first Sharknado movie, and the Sharknado movie didn’t have Jackson dying because of a frisbee as The Rock raced across a park. A frisbee.”
Scott snorted. “Poetic justice.”
“Why Scott McCall,” Stiles answered, tisking as though he was appalled. “That is very close to admitting that you think Jackson is a douche who deserves to get brained by a frisbee for all the times he brained you with a lacrosse ball.”
“That’s…”
“Basketball,” Stiles continued. “Baseball. Dodgeball.”
“Well, that one is probably my fault for not dodging.”
“Volleyball.”
“I know, Stiles! What do you want me to say? That it felt really good to watch?”
“Uhm,” Stiles said. “Yeah! He made our lives hell in high school. If we can’t enjoy him dying because of a frisbee then what do we have to look forward to? Him going bald before we do? My mom’s family is only part Irish, I’m not too sure of my chances for that happening.”
“Your hair is fine,” Scott dismissed. “Stop making me feel bad for enjoying the karmic retribution.”
“You don’t feel bad,” Stiles pointed out. “You’re just a lot darker than you let on.”
“It’s a movie! He didn’t actually die.”
Stiles grinned. He always enjoyed messing with Scott. That’s what besties were for. No one trolled you better than your BFF. “You don’t have to rationalize it, it was just a movie.”
“Exactly. “ Scott paused, the end of that conversation. “ And I have no idea. Maybe he’s a lawyer prepping a big case or something. Derek, I mean.”
“It makes more sense than a hitman,” Stiles mused, immediately following Scott’s train of thought back to the original conversation. Another thing besties were good at. “I don’t think so, though. It doesn’t feel like it fits.”
“Then what does?” Scott questioned.
“Dunno…” Stiles trailed off. “Derek will have to remain a mystery.”
“You could just ask.”
“Perish the thought!” Stiles answered dramatically.
Ask? Pffffft.
x.x.x.x.
Part of Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek just didn’t notice or if he was an ungrateful shit, but Stiles thought it was the former because even an ungrateful shit probably would have gotten flustered at the idea that Stiles had seen the one pair of underwear Derek had left in his drawer because they… were something. Something Stiles was putting immediately out of his brain.
The one thing that didn’t pass Derek by was the food Stiles bought for him.
Derek stared in his fridge and looked surprised to see the fresh food on his shelf.
Right, Stiles decided, feeling he was justified in being indignant with the way Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the full fridge, like little fridge fairies visited overnight, instead of Stiles dragging three heavy bags for a few blocks and then up all those stairs.
Now Derek would stop stealing his food in the middle of the night! There was nothing wrong with this plan. It was a solid plan.
More solid than Derek’s brain, anyway.
“What do you do for a living?” Stiles blurted out, leaning against the counter and biting down on a sandwich. He drew the line at actually making supper for Derek, which meant he’d probably start doing that in a few days, like all the other lines he’d drawn. “I mean, what’s your job?”
If anything Derek looked even more confused, like he was stymied by why there was food in his fridge and someone talking behind him, and it was all too much for his brain to process. Swiss cheese, seriously. Stiles had actually bought Derek some swiss cheese to represent the state of his brain.
“I’m an actuary,” he told Stiles, giving him an intensely unimpressed expression like Stiles was the one who was forgetting everything and gave off the appearance that a dementor was feeding off his soul every night. It wasn’t like he’d told Stiles a ton of times what he did for a living and then Stiles ignored him. Stiles was not Derek Hale.
“Oh my god,” Stiles exclaimed without thinking, actually taking a step away from Derek. He couldn’t help but look at him in a new light.
Most boring, least sexy job ever.
x.x.x.x.
“He’s an actuary,” Stiles explained to Scott during their next scheduled Skype time.
“Huh,” Scott said. “Maybe he just has some weird memory problem. Or maybe he’s on drugs. Did you find anything in his underwear drawer?”
Yeah, but Stiles wasn’t going to mention those to Scott. He could barely manage to think of them himself. “Hey!” he answered indignantly. “What makes you think I’ve been through his underwear drawer?”
Scott rolled his eyes at him, and Stiles scowled in the direction of his webcam in response. “Please,” Scott answered. “I’ve known you since second grade. You used to go through Mrs. Brightman’s desk to find out what new stickers she bought before a test. And that was mild compared to some of the other nosy things you’ve done throughout the years. Of course you looked through Derek’s underwear drawer.”
Stiles couldn’t argue with that. “Unless his drug of choice is regular strength Aspirin and generic brand vitamins you can get at any drug store, I don’t think that’s it,” Stiles finally admitted. “He doesn’t even have any weed.”
“He’s a hardened New Yorker. He’s much too jaded for that. I worry about you – just say no to that East Coast shit!”
“Haha. Shut up, Scott.”
Scott just shrugged a shoulder and grinned. “So how’s your love affair with the Chrysler Building?”
And that set Stiles off on a whole other topic. A topic of steel and brick. Scott really did understand his priorities.
x.x.x.x.
Stiles was trying to sleep on the damned couch, but Michelle was giving him a hard time, one particular coil digging right into his hip and it felt like a corkscrew was burrowing into his bone.
It hit him that this was the second time in his life that he found himself attracted to someone who was stupidly attractive on the outside but a completely and utter math enthusiast on the inside.
That was weird, right?
Did he have a type? A type that wasn’t just Lydia Martin? Was his type numbers?
Oh no, that was terrible news. The next thing he knew, he’d probably be popping boners for the lady who read out lottery numbers. And really, that explained why he thought Charlie Eppes was hotter than his brother.
Stiles rolled over again, the couch creaking beneath his weight, and he CURSED Derek. If Stiles knew magic, he would literally curse Derek, one of the really bad ones that made his dick fall off or something, or if he really wanted justice maybe he’d curse Derek so every bed Derek ever tried to sleep in would feel as uncomfortable as his couch.
Stiles was just a little vindictive, ok?
He rolled over again, looking up as the bedroom door opened. He watched as Derek shuffled his way out of his bedroom, ignoring the fridge in lieu of pouring the remains of day(s) old-coffee from his old coffee machine into a mug. He didn’t bother to microwave it or anything, just took a drink of it. Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s expression in the dark, but he imagined it couldn’t be pleasant.
Derek wandered into the living room, and for a second Stiles thought for sure that Derek was going to say something to him, possibly chide him for not cleaning out the coffee pot in daaaays, but Derek surprised him and didn’t say a word as he sat right on top of Stiles.
“What the hell?” Stiles yelped, bolting up and dragging his legs out from underneath the mass of Asshole with a few very violent flails.
Kicks. Kicks sounded better and more controlled. Stiles kicked his way out from beneath Derek.
Cold coffee rained down over both of them as Derek jumped to his feet, jerking visibly in surprise.
“I…” Derek started, and then frowned and stalked back into his bedroom. He was still wearing his business suit, and it was all rumpled like he’d been sleeping in it, but it was there so Stiles couldn’t even appreciate that. It was possibly the most frustrating thing about Derek Hale.
There was something really, really strange going on with that man.
Stiles was not doing his dry cleaning!!
“You’re welcome for the wake up, jackass,” Stiles yelled after him. “Maybe I should scare you every morning. How would you like that?” he muttered to himself. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll jump on your bed and elbow you in the nuts. Surprise.”
He couldn’t believe Derek sat on him.
What a jackass.
So when Derek put his wallet in the fridge the next night instead of on the counter next to his cell phone, Stiles didn’t say a word. He didn’t say a word in the morning either, when Derek woke him at some unfortunate hour before 8 AM on a Saturday, and walked out the door with his shoes, his phone, but no wallet.
It was kind of his fault when he was watching a movie on his computer, enjoying what was probably the last free weekend he had before really getting into the term and the ton of assignments he’d have to do between now and December. He got up for one second – one second – in search of a snack, and his phone started to ring. The only people who really called him were his dad and Scott, but Stiles had also provided his number with a few feelers he had out for an apartment, so he dove halfway across the apartment for it, stubbing his toe on Derek Hale’s damn coffee table.
“Stiles Stilinski speaking,” he answered politely.
“Do you know where my wallet is?”
Stiles was so tempted to hang up.
“I just saw it in the fridge,” Stiles attempted for innocent, which normally meant that people could see right through him, but Derek actually knew nothing about him because Derek hadn’t been paying attention to anything. Stiles could probably get away with lying right to Derek Hale’s face without making an effort to hide his tells.
“Could you bring it to me?” Derek asked.
“I could…” Stiles hedged. He could, but he didn’t want to.
“Thanks,” Derek answered begrudgingly and ended the call.
“You didn’t tell me where, jerkwad!” Stiles yelled into his phone. He paused for a second, then hit the button to return the call.
“Stiles?” Derek questioned.
“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME WHERE, JERKWAD!” Stiles repeated, because nope. He was not in the mood for this.
x.x.x.x.
It turned out that Derek was in the library, sitting at a desk with his laptop in front of him, a frown on his face as he continuously pressed the down button on the keyboard. Stiles took a moment to pause and stare at him. When Derek had told Stiles where he was, Stiles had considered that maybe Derek was reading for recreation (or was in the middle of planning a hit on a librarian. Whatever, it made as much sense as reading for recreation).
He hadn’t considered that Derek might actually be using the library for the real purpose of a library, or at least a library like the Science, Industry and Business Library.
“Dude, you’re studying,” Stiles said in surprise, taking in the varied books spread across the table in front of Derek as he threw himself into the chair across from him. As far as Stiles knew, Derek had finished his degree years ago and had been living in an adult world full of working five days a week since. He hadn’t actually paused to consider that all of Derek’s really weird activities were easily explained by something Stiles was kind of intimately familiar with: exams. There was a certain look to it, and Stiles should have seen it. It was very confusing. “Why?”
Derek sighed. “Learning,” he said and rolled his eyes. “I thought improving one’s mind was encouraged.”
“No, this is... it’s for a purpose. Believe me, I recognize the signs. You’re studying kind of frantically here.” Derek was studying with the kind of intensity that spoke of an upcoming deadline. It actually explained a lot. If Stiles was working full time as well going through exams, he’d probably be just as burnt out as Derek was.
Not that Stiles needed to gain sympathy or understanding for Derek or anything. This didn’t change the fact that Derek was kind of an asshole. It just made it… a little bit more understandable in a totally relatable way.
Derek looked like he regretted calling Stiles in the first place, as though going hungry was better than saying three sentences to clue Stiles in on what was going on. “Professional upgrading. Actuaries have up to nine exams over their careers that advance them to the next pay grade. If passed.”
So that was what was happening in two weeks. Lame. Stiles was almost disappointed to let go of all the other ideas he and Scott had brainstormed, because a high-profile hit was way more interesting than an exam.
Stiles rolled his eyes back at Derek. At this rate, the two of them were going to end up straining their eye muscles, and Stiles could think of a list of better alternatives to muscles they could strain together. “I know what professional upgrading is, you dick. I’m getting a Master’s degree.” Also, he played video games. He understood levelling up. “But look at what you’re doing to yourself. Can’t you just take the next exam and spread out this intense cramming. You already have the job. The way I see it, they’re not going to fire you if you fail.”
Derek shot him a quelling look, dragging his computer towards himself as though Stiles was going to try to take it from him.
“Oh my god, they’d fire you?”
“Failing the exam would not be the official reason for it, no.” Derek said from between his clenched teeth, as though Stiles was somehow making things worse by reminding Derek of all this stuff.
Whoops. Stiles could see that.
“That’s not too bad, I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Stiles laughed hollowly, nudging his foot against Derek’s.
“I get heavily encouraged to move into an ‘easier’ sector and my wage cap doesn’t move up by twenty thousand dollars.”
“See, that’s not...” Stiles began, and then stared at Derek. “Twenty-thousand, really? From what to what?”
“It doesn’t matter because I’m not earning in the top of the range. Likely I’ll just get a bonus for passing. Maybe,” Derek shrugged. “It’s not a matter of the money. I’m already behind in my potential. I should have done this almost a year ago. If I don’t actively strive forward, that kind of complacency is a warning sign that points to the risk my employers are taking by continuing my employment in a field that actively necessitates constant learning.”
Stiles squinted at him. “I’m gonna buy you a cookie.” Derek deserved a cookie, especially since Stiles now felt bad about leaving Derek’s wallet where he wouldn’t find it.
“I don’t want a cookie,” Derek answered almost immediately, then his eyes looked up over the top of his laptop. “They make really good Death by Chocolate cake at the café across the street,” he finished hesitantly.
And aww shit, now Stiles didn’t just feel guilty about being such an ass, but he also felt his heart kind of swell with Derek’s unvoiced uncertainty that Stiles wouldn’t buy him what he wanted, or even that Stiles was serious about buying Derek a cookie. The last thing he needed was to think that maybe Derek was human, and a cute human at that, beneath all his annoying traits.
x.x.x.x.x.
Derek was back to being an asshole. His damned piece of cake cost Stiles $5. Stiles could have bought a box of Betty Crocker for that amount and made Derek a whole cake.
Like he was on the final descent into the role of homemaker.
And all at once, that seemed like the easiest and best idea he’d ever had. He needed just a bit more time before October, because October was a new month – a new month he hadn’t dropped rent on yet. The two weeks Derek had given him was quickly running out, obviously the countdown to exam day. Then, he’d have to find a place. Then, he’d have Derek’s full attention in finding a place, and Stiles wasn’t sure he could actually afford that anymore. He’d sell his body to be able to stay with Derek for more than the agreed two weeks.
Physical labor!
He meant he’d do the heavy lifting for Derek. Though, just between him and his bank account…
“I’ll make you a deal,” Stiles said, shoving the cake take-out container across the table towards Derek. It bumped into one of the journals Derek had spread out around him. Derek looked at it in surprise, and Stiles wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t expect Stiles to come back, or if he had forgotten Stiles was there at all. “Now that I know that you’re studying for an exam and not,” Stiles waved his hand in the air to convey ‘anything else’. He could actually see that he was losing Derek’s attention to the computer in front of him. Not this time, buddy, “murdering people for money or whatever…”
“What?” Derek questioned, his attention dragging back to Stiles.
“Yeah,” Stiles encouraged. “Eyes on me while I say this, because I want you to remember it.”
“Ohhhkay,” Derek answered slowly, his expression telling Stiles that he thought Stiles was very, very weird. He pulled his cake towards him anyway, taking a huge bite of it and staring across the table like he could will Stiles to talk quickly.
Stiles had to pause for a second because Derek ate like someone was going to take away his food at any second, and Stiles wondered if he thought that because he ate so quickly that he forgot that he was the one who had consumed it. He wondered if Derek thought there was a huge conspiracy out there of people stealing his food when he wasn’t looking.
“So, I’ll be more helpful around the apartment. I’ll keep being helpful – I’ll make sure you have food, I’ll clean up after you sometimes so your Magic Bullet containers aren’t all caked in dried smoothie remains. If I watch you put your wallet in the fridge again, I’ll dig it out and put it next to your cell phone… that kind of stuff.”
“What.” Derek’s tone was flat now as he stared at Stiles over his piece of cake.
Maybe Stiles had gone too far by telling Derek that last bit.
“You’ve kind of been a huge dick nugget,” Stiles pointed out. “But that’s ok because I understand it now, I can sympathize.”
“I’ve been a dick nugget?” Derek questioned incredulously.
“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” someone hissed from behind Derek. Stiles leaned to his left and looked over Derek’s shoulder, looking to see who it was.
“Yeah,” Stiles answered with his voice lowered. “That’s what I’m saying, I’ll be better, I’ll help ease your burden at the apartment, which I could have been doing all along if you’d just taken five minutes to explain what was happening in your life. We can make this work.”
Derek stared at him, shovelling a piece of cake in his mouth and angrily chewing on it.
Stiles still wasn’t sure if the expression on his face was normal resting-face material or if he was getting bitch-faced at.
“So what is the deal, here?” Derek prompted.
Exams couldn’t actually account for this level of forgetfulness. Derek was screwed. If his exam needed him to remember any of the stuff he was reading, Stiles couldn’t see how Derek had made it this far in his career. He made sure to speak slowly this time. “You let me stay until the end of the month, I’ll clean up after you. I just outlined it.”
“You didn’t actually say that you wanted to stay.”
He had!... not. Huh. How about that? “So we work on communication,” Stiles said with a shrug. “People living together do that all the time. Of course, they’re usually in a relationship and have some sort of investment in longevity and all we have is a mutual need for each other.” Derek looked unconvinced. Unconvinced and a little horrified when Stiles said the words ‘living together’ like he wasn’t sure how his life had gotten to that point. “You need me to make sure you’re not a mess, and I need a place to crash for a few weeks. Just until the end of the month, so I don’t have to spend money on September rent. Again. A favour for a favour.” He spread his hands open in front of him, palms up in appeal.
Derek looked towards the ceiling like that would somehow give him strength as he shoved the last, large, piece of cake in his mouth. He chewed aggressively, cheeks puffed out from the volume of cake he was attempting to eat all at once. “Fine,” Derek conceded, finally, looking like a man whose whole world was collapsing around his ears. “Just until the end of the month.”