Chapter Text
Surely this is the part where Derek makes a move.
But Stiles looks exhausted, a worn-out smile on his face as he eats the breakfast that Derek prepared for him, and it’s as sweet as the one he’d been wearing when Derek had put him to bed, when he’d grabbed onto the sleeve of his Henley and told him it was ridiculous for him to leave when he could just stay.
(Derek had wanted to kiss him, then. He had no idea when exactly it happened, but at some point during their dates – lab drinks – he’d fallen, hard, and in that moment, it’d been difficult not to move that extra inch and press their lips together, wrap his arms around Stiles until they were touching anywhere and everywhere they could.
Instead, he’d followed the insistent tugging until he was lying down next to him, and taken Stiles’ hand when it slid down his own until their fingers were intertwined.)
Derek had missed him this past week, more than he thought he would. Stiles had been a persistent thought, lingering at the back of his mind when he should have been focusing on more important things, like his interview, and the paper the review panel had given him a week to prepare.
Now that he is here, in Derek’s front room, wrapped up in his old sports gear – he just wants to slide his arms around him, feel that crooked twist of his lips against his own.
But last night Stiles had been, for lack of a better way to put it, black-out drunk, and Derek doesn’t want to disrupt the easy, comfortable atmosphere. Or lose the happy, easy way Stiles looks at him over the rim of his coffee mug, all warmth and contentment. So he lets it go, lets himself enjoy the moment, here and now.
--
They have breakfast and Stiles leaves in Derek’s sweats with his cell number and a new toothbrush. He feels good – this feels good. They’ve grown closer, and Stiles is enjoying this burgeoning friendship, these little moments where he cracks a joke that gets Derek to smile, to release the tension he always seems to carry with him and finally relax.
And if Derek never asks for his clothes back and Stiles keeps on forgetting to bring it up so he can return them, then what’s the harm?
Besides, Stiles has other things on his mind, and it doesn’t take long for life to take get in the way. By the end of the final month of Stiles’ internship, his best friend has bailed out on him at the last possible minute to move-in with his girlfriend, and Stiles is left in desperate need of another flatmate.
He’s on a short schedule – they need to sign the lease in like a week – and by the time he and Derek meet up for their weekly drinking session, all thoughts of the other night have been buried by the stress of moving, and he’s about to ready pull his hair out. Derek takes one look at him and orders a double SoCo and lemonade, on the rocks, which Stiles immediately downs half of before cradling the glass to his head.
It works to somewhat ease the headache that has been plaguing him for hours, and he’s so pleased that it takes him a moment to realise that Derek knows his favourite guilty pleasure. Syrup and lemonade, Erica calls it.
He glances over at him, but he’s smiling at the bartender as she hands him his own drinks, and he figures it must have slipped out the other night. The one he tries not to think about, except before bed, and in the small hours of the early morning, and occasionally during a slow Sunday morning-
“Thanks.”
Derek turns to him and raises a brow, but its effect is negated by the fact his eyes are creased in a warm smile. “It’s not a problem. You looked like you needed it.”
Stiles closes his eyes before he does something stupid, like press a kiss to those creases, and presses the glass back to his temple with a muffled groan. “You have no idea.”
A warm hand encloses around his other hand where it’s laying on the bar, and Stiles cracks open an eye to see Derek squeeze his wrist gently, sending him a glance over his pint glass.
“Enlighten me.”
Stiles watches him for a moment, before dropping his head back onto the bar, groaning into the wood. Derek lets out a snort, but waits him out, idly swirling the ice around his glass until Stiles lets out a long breath, tilting his face towards him.
“We had someone drop out of our flat before we signed the lease. We need to sign the contract in three days, and we’ve had no luck finding a new person.” He sighs, scrubbing his hands across his face. “It’s a huge cluster fuck, basically.”
“Seems like it.”
Stiles lets out a groan, turning his face back into the bar. “I’m going to be homeless for the first few weeks of the semester. This sucks.”
He lifts his head just long enough to down the last of his drink before dropping back down to the wood with a muffled ‘thunk’. After a moment, a warm touch settles between his shoulder blades, radiating a comforting heat through the back of his shirt, and he glances up just in time to catch Derek’s wry smile.
“I think you’re going to need a few more of those.”
Derek’s already waved down the bartender, and before he’s even finished speaking, the glass is being taken from his hand and replaced with a new one. Stiles blinks at it, before glancing back to Derek, who raises a brow.
“What?”
“We’ve done this before. We both know the end result is not pretty.”
Derek gives him an impressive eye-roll before he leans back into his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. “I’ll cut you off before we even approach 'Bohemian Rhapsody' levels.”
He grins as Stiles shoots him a startled look, but before Stiles can ask how he could possibly know about that, he redirects him by asking him another question.
"So, how long is the lease?”
“Twelve months, paid at the beginning of each month. It’s a big commitment to make with people you don’t know, so I can’t blame people for not signing up.”
Derek looks contemplative, fingers tapping lightly against his drink before he downs it, dropping it back down onto the bar with a clatter. “And you said you live in walking distance from campus?”
“Yeah.” Stiles pauses, eyes narrowed suspiciously as Derek he flags down the bartender and orders another drink. He waits until the glass is in his hands, though, and Derek’s attention has moved away from his drinks before he asks: “why?”
Derek's expression is neutral, but the small twitch at the edge of his mouth gives him away as he meets Stiles' gaze, raising an eyebrow. “How much is the room?”
Stiles finally levers himself upright, leveling Derek with a piercing stare as he struggles to quash the impossible spark of incredulous hope that stirs within his chest.
“Are you- are you seriously considering this?”
Derek just lifts his shoulders in a shrug, before breaking into a grin that completely shatters his composure. “Sure. My studio lease runs out soon, and I'm not really eager to renew it. It’s – been an experience, living by myself, but I come from a big family. I’ve missed the company."
“I- Jesus. My other flatmates are great. Erica and Boyd keep to themselves; they’re barely in the apartment. Isaac is shy, you’ll never hear a peep from him, I promise.”
“So you’d fill the noise quota?”
Derek’s eyes twinkle with good humour as Stiles startles into a laugh, smirking into his glass as Stiles throws a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. He looks so incredibly smug that Stiles narrows a glare at him, trying to mean it - really - but Derek is unrepentant, lifting a shoulder as if to ask ‘what?’
“I’ll have you know, I’m a joy to live with.”
“So you’ve said before.” Derek snorts out a laugh, eyes crinkling into a smile once more before his expression sobers, and he leans in towards Stiles, his gaze intent as he scans Stiles' features. “I'm serious, though. Email me a copy of the lease and give me a time to drop by. I’ll check the place out.”
Stiles’ smiles softens and he ends up watching Derek for several moments, considering. He's a little disappointed with himself when he ends up testing Derek's expression for the hallmarks of a lie; it's a habit - a bad one - that he's picked up as a consequence of being the Sheriff's son, needing to know for sure whether or not someone was telling the truth or just messing with him.
But Derek - Derek appears to be sincere, in every way that Stiles knows how to check. Or he's at least in possession of an impressive poker face, one that has not previously made itself known in the time Stiles has known him - not even when Derek had tried and failed to convince Harris that they'd always had one less embryo dish, and no, one was not missing -- and it quickly becomes clear that Derek is serious.
Stiles could kiss him. (He really wants to.)
Instead, Stiles leans forward and presses in closer, the distance between them disappearing rapidly as Derek mimics the movement, although he doesn't think Derek is aware of what he is doing. He makes sure he has Derek’s full attention, driven by the irresistible urge to hear him say it. “Are you sure about this?”
Derek’s expression is warm as he considers Stiles, his lips tilted into a soft smile as his gaze flickers across Stiles' features. It's close and intimate, and Stiles can feel the rush of air against his cheek when he exhales, see the flicker of pink as he wets his lips. It's a struggle, but he manages (somehow) to drag his eyes back up to Derek's just in time to hear him say, “of course. I wouldn't offer if I wasn't."
Stiles doesn't kiss him, but he does promise him his first born, and it's worth it to hear Derek laugh.
--
It’s only later, after Derek has made an offer on the room and Stiles has to bite his lip to prevent himself from saying anything stupid and flirty, that Stiles realises his mistake.
In the process of gaining a new flatmate, he’s managed to make it impossible for him to make a move on the most brilliant, adorable, crush-worthy grad student in existence.
He really can’t bring himself to feel bad about it, though.