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Stiles looks longingly at the bag of chips on the counter, sighs and picks up his keys instead. He needs to go to the gym.
He’s been told for years that an alpha will never be interested in him if he doesn’t lose some weight, and he’s trying to do something about it. He’d promised his dad he wouldn’t lay around the house all summer, anyway.
He knows it’s no use, though. He’s researched every kind of diet, worked on cooking both himself and his father healthy meals. He’s gone through a lot of different workouts and exercises, and even tried out for the lacrosse team. He’d been turned down, of course: omega hormones are no good for sports, don’t you know that, Stilinski?
But the weight just won’t come off, no matter what. It seems like his body is perfectly happy to carry a little extra around the middle, to keep his thighs thick.
And that means he’s nowhere near the sleek, graceful, and sexually attractive omega ideal. He’s less than desirable, and he knows it.
Alphas have hormones to keep them big and bulky and strong, and omegas have hormones to keep them lean and lanky, which means Stiles is a failure all the way down to the biological level.
He climbs into the jeep, scowling at himself in the rearview mirror.
Maybe something will change this time.
*
The gym is mostly full of the usual betas, who don’t have the benefit of extra hormones to help keep them in shape, and he tries to avoid their gaze as he heads upstairs to the indoor track. He knows they all think he’s a freak.
There’s only a few pregnant women and a beta with a knee brace up here, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. He hates exercising, but he especially hates it when there are a lot of people watching him. Though he’s wearing loose-fitting track pants and a baggy shirt, he knows they can still tell how flabby he is.
He walks a few laps to warm up, then starts jogging. He’s worked his way up to running a mile, but he’s not sure anyone would believe him if he said so. He keeps to the edge of the track so he can look down into the gym.
There’s a few alphas at the free weights, and Stiles smirks a little. He’s pretty sure they only come in here to show off how strong they are to each other. Watching them reminds him of Derek, who is so beautiful and perfect it almost hurts Stiles to look at him. He does it anyway, though, any chance he gets.
Derek’s a year older than him, and somehow hasn’t found a mate yet. He’s also the one who’d recommended this gym when Stiles had asked, and had gotten him a discount on his own membership.
They’ve been friends for almost a year, ever since Stiles’ failed lacrosse tryout, but he’s still not exactly sure why. Derek seems to enjoy his sense of humor, but otherwise Stiles doesn’t have much to interest an alpha like Derek.
He slows to a walk and heads downstairs, trying not to dwell on things. He has the whole summer to turn himself into someone worthwhile, after all.
He does sets on the rower and the thigh press, then goes back upstairs and starts running again. He gets to almost another mile before he starts to feel bad. Like, really bad.
Maybe he should have eaten something before he came here.
He jogs to the water fountain and takes a few sips, but it doesn’t help. He feels trembling and weak all over, and he decides it’s time to go.
He makes it down the stairs and out to the jeep, leaning heavily against the side of it as he works to get the door open. He collapses into the driver’s seat, and closes his eyes against the black spots in his vision. His hands are shaking against the steering wheel, and he knows he’s in no state to drive.
He tries to take calm, steadying breaths as he digs his phone out of his pocket. Thankfully Derek’s right there in his recent call log, and Stiles manages to press his name on the first try.
“What’s up, Stiles?” Derek answers, sounding happy. Stiles hates to ruin his day like this, but.
“Hey,” he says as levelly as he can manage. “Are you by chance going to the gym today?”
“Yeah. Just pulled into the parking lot, actually,” Derek says. “Why?”
“I’m here too. I need—I don’t think I can drive home,” Stiles says, his voice breaking a little.
“Shit,” Derek says, and hangs up.
Moments later the door of the jeep is being yanked open, and Stiles opens his eyes to Derek’s worried face. “Stiles? Stiles, what’s wrong?” he asks, his hand brushing across Stiles’ shoulder.
“I feel like I’m gonna pass out,” Stiles says, though he can’t help feeling relieved that Derek is here.
“Why? Did you work out—” Derek cuts himself off, his eyes narrowing. “Have you had anything to eat today, Stiles?”
Stiles doesn’t want to lie to Derek, he likes him too much for that. “No,” he says carefully. “I haven’t.”
“It’s four o’clock now, fuck,” Derek says, his eyebrows pulling down. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
In the few seconds he’s gone, Stiles has time to be grateful that this isn’t happening in the gym. He can’t imagine the nasty things people would say, if an overweight omega collapsed while exercising.
“Here,” Derek says, reappearing next to the jeep and pushing something into Stiles’ hands. It’s half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. On wheat bread, because Derek’s health-conscious even though he doesn’t have to be. The plastic wrap’s already been partially peeled away for him, so Stiles takes a tiny, careful bite.
The sweetness across his tongue instantly manages to make him feel better, and he suddenly remembers that Derek doesn’t like peanut butter that much. He makes his sandwiches with mostly jelly. The thought makes him smile, and he glances over.
“I have this, too,” Derek says, holding up a bottle of water. “And you’re going to drink some before I let you go anywhere.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, because he’s really in no position to argue. He keeps slowly eating, a little afraid his stomach will rebel, but it doesn’t happen, not even when he gulps down some water too. He finishes the sandwich under Derek’s watchful eye, and finds that he feels a lot steadier. “Sorry I had to eat your snack,” he mumbles, because he doesn’t really know what else to say.
“I gave it to you,” Derek says, and his tone gives Stiles a warning for what’s coming next. “Stiles, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s just not that important.”
“Easy for you to say,” Stiles blurts out raggedly. “You don’t have to worry about—” not finding a mate, you don’t have to worry about ending up alone. To his mortification, he finds he’s on the verge of tears, and he desperately scrubs his hands across his face.
“It’s not more important than your life,” Derek says, gently pulling Stiles against his chest and folding his arms around him. “Please don’t ever think that.”
He knows he probably shouldn’t, but Stiles can’t resist burying his face against Derek’s neck, his hands gripping tight in Derek’s shirt. Derek’s alpha scent is soothing, and Stiles breathes it in, letting it calm him.
Derek seems perfectly content to keep holding him forever, but Stiles knows he really will start crying if he doesn’t let go. His muscles still feel rubbery, but he knows he can make the drive, now.
“Thanks,” he says, leaning back in the seat. “I think I’m going to go home.”
Derek nods, but he still looks sad. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will,” Stiles says, and manages to dredge up a smile before he pulls the door closed and drives away.
*
Derek knocks on his door the next afternoon.
“Hey, can I come in?” he asks, and Stiles blinks in surprise. Derek’s been over to his house dozens of times, for movie nights and card games and the sleepovers that Stiles and his friends never quite grew out of. So it’s weird that Derek is asking for permission now.
“Sure,” he says, stepping back and gesturing Derek to the living room.
He shuts the door and leans against it for a moment, taking a deep breath before following Derek. He’s taken the couch, so Stiles sits in the armchair across from it, wanting a little distance.
“Look,” Derek says, after watching him silently. “If it matters that much, let me go to the gym with you, help you with your workouts.”
No, Stiles thinks immediately. He doesn’t want Derek to witness his pathetic attempts at exercise. How humiliating.
“But,” Derek continues, “you shouldn’t work out solely to lose weight. You’re bound to be disappointed.”
“Why should I, then?” Stiles snaps out, irritated.
“Because I know you hate feeling weak,” Derek says. “And Stiles, I don’t want you to be thinner. I want you to like who you are.”
Stiles lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Why should I? No one else is going to.”
“That’s not true,” Derek says calmly, but there’s a steely certainty underneath. “I’ve been trying to court you for months, but you’ve never noticed. You don’t need to meet some arbitrary ideal to be wanted. I already like you a lot, Stiles.”
“That can’t be—” Stiles says, reeling back. “You’re—you’re perfect, and I’m me.”
Derek’s eyebrows go up. “Is it really so unbelievable that I’m attracted to you? That I have been for a while? I’m not perfect, and neither are you, and that’s okay.” He smiles a little. “You matter to me. I just kept hearing you talk about how you were a hopeless case, and I wanted you to know how I felt.”
Stiles stares in shock at the absolute sincerity on Derek’s face. It seems impossible. But he’s so tired of being hungry. So tired of being lonely. So he lets himself believe Derek. He does it carefully, tentatively, but he lets himself believe.
“Derek, I—” he says, almost pleading now.
Derek moves immediately, kneeling down in front of his chair and looking up at him. “Stiles?”
“You really want to be with me?” he asks tentatively, needing confirmation. “Even though I’m—” He cuts off with a vague gesture, because he’s not just asking about his weight now, but all the other things Derek has seen and heard.
“I really do,” Derek says, smiling wide and bright.
Stiles smiles back, though he knows his is a little more wobbly. “I promise I’ll notice when you’re courting me this time,” he says, and Derek laughs.
“I’ll be taking it slow,” he says, thumb stroking gently across Stiles’ knee. “But I’m sure you’ll notice, just the same.”
And Stiles still feels hollowed-out, still feels like he can’t trust his body, still feels like he can’t be worth the effort. But he thinks he deserves a chance to feel differently, now. That maybe things really can change. He leans down, brushes his cheek against Derek’s stubbled one.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he says softly.