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It’s four am and the diner is quiet. Derek finishes wiping down a table; life as usual, he’s alone, he’s at work, everything goes on as it does. He refills coffee for the two tired-looking truckers sitting at the counter and goes back to refilling the salt shakers.
The last time Cora was home, she’d asked if he and Laura ever considered selling the place. “Doesn’t do much business,” she said, trying to be gentle. Say it was okay to let go. But she’d only been a baby when the accident happened that took their parents; she didn’t have memories growing up here the way Derek and Laura did, playing hide-and-seek under the counters, watching their dad bake pies and their mom fill coffee, listening to travelers talk about their lives on the road.
Hale’s is fifty miles from the nearest town in either direction, a blink-and-miss-it diner still stuck in the ‘50s, right off the Pacific Coast Highway. The little town of Beacon Hills is an hour away, so almost all the patrons are travellers, people looking for respite from the road, on their way up to the redwoods or heading down to San Francisco and Los Angeles. There’s a little wall of autographs from famous people who’ve dined here; cowboys and starlets and authors and people Derek’s parents took a shine to. The diner is a historic landmark, not to mention it’s always been home to Derek.
So Laura manages the day shift and Derek does the night. It works out well; he doesn’t have to interact with people much. He and Laura were homeschooled until high school, and Derek had found Beacon Hills High School overwhelming with its crowds.
The radio starts a new song; it’s one of Derek’s favorites. He doesn’t remember the name of the artist, but it makes Derek feel alive. The song lyrics aren’t particularly sensual, but the man’s voice is— Derek shudders, feeling his blood run hot under his skin, and he imagines the warm touch of someone pulling him close, embracing him, kissing him—
“Can I take this coffee to go?”
“Oh. Sure,” Derek says, pouring the trucker’s coffee into a plastic cup.
They leave him a decent tip and are off, the bell jingling as they go.
Derek sighs, watching the moonlight dance across the ocean in the distance. He listens to the rustling of the trees, and occasionally a car will drive past the diner, lights blaring.
He turns off the radio and hums the song to himself as he sweeps up.
There’s longing here, of a love long lost, and Derek is lost to the song, to the memories it drags up.
Nothing but the sound of waves crashing on the shore, the white hot sun burning just beyond Derek’s closed eyes. He can feel the warm body next to him stir awake, and then fingers carding through his hair.
“Derek… hey. You awake?”
“Nope,” Derek says, and he can already picture it: Stiles leaning over him, his hair still wet, eyes bright with laughter.
“You sure?” Stiles climbs on top of him, hands trailing down Derek’s chest.
Derek opens his eyes and Stiles is right there, close enough for Derek to count his eyelashes. “Yeah, definitely still asleep. Best dream I ever had,” Derek says, tugging Stiles’ chin close so he can kiss him.
Stiles laughs, and Derek rolls them over so he’s on top, which results in Stiles indignantly trying to get back the upper hand. It’s a fight neither of them care about winning, and it’s all new, so new, the daring thrill of Stiles’ bare skin, already freckling in the sun.
They’ve only ever kissed, and every touch is electric to Derek. Does Stiles want more? Would he want more? Derek knows Stiles… experienced. Derek is not.
They talked about it, Derek being a virgin, and Stiles had said it didn’t matter, he loved Derek anyway, and they could do whatever Derek wanted and that was it. Blushing, Derek had made an over-the-clothes rule only when they started dating, and now with Stiles underneath him, soft skin and breathing quick Derek wants, he wants Stiles so badly. He loves him, and it’s the right time.
So under the hot summer sun Derek says yes, and Stiles’ eyes widen and he gets to his feet, pulling Derek along, all the way up the path as they run back towards the Hale house, tucked away in the woods atop the cliff.
The bell rings again, and Derek is looking at his own sorry reflection in the shining countertop. It’s been a long time since he was sixteen. This damn song, it’s too much.
“Sit wherever, I’ll be there in a minute,” Derek says, not looking away. He hasn’t shaved in days. Laura’s moved to Beacon Hills, she doesn’t mind the commute, prefers being with people, living with her fiance. Derek still lives in the house in the woods behind the diner, but he might as well be a hermit.
He turns the radio back on, and the station immediately starts playing the song again. Derek groans. It might be a favorite, but he doesn’t want to think about Stiles. Not right now. He switches the station immediately.
“Not a fan?”
Derek really doesn’t want to talk about this with a stranger, especially how Stiles moved away right after summer was over and Derek never saw him again.
“What can I get you?” Derek asks, ignoring the question. He flips open his notebook and looks up and freezes.
The eyes are the same: warm brown amber, bright and curious. Stiles’ shoulders are broader, his hair styled in a trendy haircut, and he’s here in Derek’s diner, leaning forward with a slow, sure smile.
“Coffee, please.”
Derek takes a deep breath; he looks different, he knows. It’s probable Stiles doesn’t remember him, and he takes a minute to compose himself while he grabs the pot. Stiles had gone off to Los Angeles for college, but that was ten years ago.
He looks good, whatever he’s been doing.
Derek’s just been here.
He pours the coffee and pretends to busy himself with other tasks. Stiles sips it and every so often will look up at Derek, and he opens his mouth to say something, and then his phone rings.
Stiles answers it with quick, annoyed quips. “No, I’m fine, you don’t need to send— I told you I’m fine, I’ll talk to you on Monday, you don’t have to worry— I just took a drive, okay? Yes— yes— fine. Talk to you later.”
Derek isn’t eavesdropping; this Stiles is practically a stranger, the boy he loved walked out of his life ten years ago. But he’s hanging on every word all the same, drinking in every detail of the man Stiles has become.
The diner is silent except for the clink clink of Stiles stirring his coffee with his spoon.
“Derek?”
It’s so soft and hesitant that Derek thinks he imagined it, and he turns around, blinking at Stiles.
Stiles is blushing. “Sorry, I thought you might be— um— do you know the Hales, they lived here, owned this diner?”
“I’m Derek,” he says, his heart pounding.
“Oh,” Stiles says, and he swallows. “I don’t know if you remember me— I used to live in Beacon Hills. We—”
“Stiles,” Derek nods, trying for casual, hoping his face doesn’t betray him. “I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure. It’s been awhile.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. He relaxes a bit and smiles at him. “How are you?”
Derek’s about to say he’s fine, give Stiles the same one-sentence spiel he gives to anyone who wanders in from Beacon Hills, old high school classmates. But he sits down, instead and lets Stiles draws him into easy conversation, just like it was before.
Stiles has been doing well. More than well, apparently finding success as a singer and songwriter.
“I’d love to hear your work,” Derek says, and Stiles shrugs it off and asks about him.
Derek talks about his garden, about baking, about the diner, Laura’s wedding plans, Cora’s adventures as a photographer for National Geographic.
He wants to bottle up Stiles’ laughter and keep it. He wants to keep Stiles, wants this easy banter back in his life.
The radio is still on in the background, and the song comes back to the one before.
Stiles laughs. “You can change it, if you want.”
“No, it’s okay,” Derek says. “I actually really like this song. It just— when you came in, I’d already been listening to it and thinking about it and I— I was thinking about you, actually. And that summer.”
Stiles bites his lip.
“And I’ve missed you,” Derek says, because he might as well. He shrugs and smiles halfheartedly, almost laughing at himself. “I mean, I know it was one summer and we only— I—” Surely Stiles doesn’t think about this time the way Derek does, holding onto those bright days when he feels lonely, Stiles is gorgeous and successful and surely has moved on.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch,” Stiles says abruptly. “At first I couldn’t and then the more I waited the harder it was to just… call and say hi.”
He glances over at the radio, now playing the last chorus of the song. I never want to say goodbye, the singer croons, and then Derek realizes Stiles is singing softly along. It’s his voice, rich and heady and filled with longing.
“It’s about you,” Stiles says. “A lot of them are, but I... I was just tired of not knowing, and hating myself for never trying to find you, and then putting it off like what if you were married or you hated me or... I just drove up here to see if you, if you still…”
He looks so hopeful, for a second Derek is transported immediately back to senior year, and Stiles is asking him out on a date.
“I want to say yes,” Derek says. “My life is here, though. With the diner and everything. Yours… isn’t.” He thinks about the glimpses of the glitzy life Stiles doesn’t speak of; the busy schedule, the tours.
“It can be, though,” Stiles says. “I can write from anywhere, and I want to try.”
Stiles’ hands are trembling, and Derek can see how much he hasn’t changed, how much he’s still that same, nervous boy he fell in love with all those years ago.
Derek reaches across the table and takes Stiles’ hands in his and smiles. “I think that would be great,” he says.
Stiles yawns and smiles sleepily back at him. “Great. How about dinner tomorrow... night…” he yawns again.
“You didn’t drive all the way from Los Angeles, did you?” Derek startles.
“I kind of did? I had lots of coffee. It was only like, nine hours.”
Laura will be here to open the diner at five am; Derek doubts being closed for less than an hour will bother their customers. “Come on,” he says. “I still live in the back.”
“Why, Derek,” Stiles says, winking at him. “Are you asking me to spend the night?”
“In the guest bedroom,” Derek says, shaking his head fondly, although his stomach flips at the thought of Stiles in his bed, Stiles curled up beside him.
Stiles lets Derek help him up and follows him along the path to the house, chuckling as he looks up at the moon. Derek can’t help but laugh along, taking comfort in warmth of Stiles’ hand in his.
“Do you remember when we snuck back here for the first time we—”
“Yeah,” Derek says. “You were so excited you tripped over the stairs.”
Stiles laughs sheepishly. “Come on, I was a teenager and I was dating you and when you said you wanted to have sex I just— you can’t blame me, okay! I was overwhelmed!”
Derek laughs as he ushers Stiles inside, pointing out the step and carefully making sure Stiles avoids it.
“I never told you...” Stiles says, his face red. “But I know everyone at school talked about how experienced and stuff I was, and I didn’t really do anything not to encourage the rumors, but I… you were my first too, Derek.”
“Oh,” Derek says.
“I just wanted it to be perfect for you.” Stiles stops at the foot of the stairs, blinking nervously.
“It was.” Derek steps closer and bridges the distance between them, kissing Stiles softly.
The empty house is silent, but for once it doesn’t quite feel so lonely anymore.
Stiles makes a small, pleased noise, and then he’s kissing back, eager and open.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” Stiles says, between kisses. “Even when I was with other— you were just—”
“I’ve never had anyone else,” Derek admits.
“Derek,” Stiles gasps. He presses his forehead to Derek’s, and they hold each other for a long moment before Derek shyly gestures him forward.
He kicks off his shoes and Stiles does the same, looking around the room curiously. “Very cozy for a guest bedroom.”
“This is my bedroom.” Derek sits on the mattress, looks up at Stiles.
Stiles nearly trips on the rug in his haste to get to the bed, making Derek laugh. He hands Stiles the good pillow, the fluffier one, and watches Stiles sigh as he lays down.
“Your window faces east,” Stiles murmurs. “It’s gonna be hella bright in the morning.”
“Mmm,” Derek says, throwing an arm over Stiles, and then a leg for good measure, curling in close.
“We should get blackout curtains. Sleep in.”
Derek smiles, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. He’s thought about it, but it always seemed like too much trouble. He’s always just dealt with it.
Stiles turns to face him, and tucks his head under Derek’s chin, like he belongs there.
Derek drifts off to sleep, already thinking about which closet he can clear out for Stiles’ things, about the blueberries field just ripe for picking, so those would make for good pancakes tomorrow, and he should tell Laura not to worry about finding him a date for her wedding.
Stiles is pressing a kiss to his neck. “I normally hate mornings, but I can’t wait to wake up with you.”
Derek can’t help but agree.