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Derek hates Lydia. She is the literal worst, as evidenced by the fact that she is currently listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, level Loud. He knows she likes the movie, but Jesus Christ it’s… A quick look at the bedside clock tells him it’s four a.m.
In all honesty, Derek couldn’t believe Lydia was still awake. Their small group of friends had gone to the library to study for their Logistics of Aerodynamics class, spending the majority of the day and a large part of the night there. Derek’s apartment was a good distance from campus, and he had an early lecture, so Lydia said he could stay in the spare room of her little cottage near campus. That had been at midnight, and as soon as they arrived at the petal-pink stucco house, Derek crashed. He assumed Lydia had done the same, though you know what they say about assuming.
Grumbling loudly, Derek hauled himself from his bed and walked into the main living area in order to tell Lydia to turn it down. Instead of the red hair and boobs that Derek was certain Lydia was in possession of when he had gone to bed, there was short brown hair and a very flat chest. The guy was crying into a tub of Chunky Monkey, curled up in a Snuggie , and listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.
“Who are you?” Derek demanded, voice sleep rough and apparently jarring enough for the guy to flail himself right into a tangle of blankets, and off the couch.
Bloodshot brown eyes look up at him in confusion.
“Stiles?” He asked, more than told. “I live here. With Lydia. Ya know, pretty red head? Who are you?”
Derek’s only response was to cross his arms and lift an eyebrow.
“Okay, Sourbrows. Obviously you know Lydia. Either that, or you’re here to rob me. Which, let me tell you, would just add the cherry to the Shit Sunday that has been my day,” Stiles rambled.
Though the talking was a bit grating, Derek could still see the tear tracks and the snot slowly leaking from Stiles’ nose as he tried to wipe it away.
“I’m Derek, and I didn’t know Lydia had a roommate. When did you meet?” Whether the guy was upset or not, Derek was curious.
“Uhm,” A nervous chuckle. “In the womb? She’s my twin.”
Derek actually showed an emotion other than ‘grr’ at that point. Twin? Lydia had never mentioned a twin, and Derek had known her since high school.
While Derek was having his mini inner-mind question sesh, Stiles was still talking.
“I mean, our parents were never married, and they each took a twin. My dad moved to another town and we didn’t find out about each other until we were eighteen. We decided to get a house together and bond. Worked pretty well, we’re a terrifying team.”
Derek put out a hand to stop the flow of words. “That still doesn’t explain why I’ve never heard of you, or seen you.”
Stiles’ eyes widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… Lydia doesn’t introduce me to her hot friends. I’m a raging pansexual and I awkward flirt with everything that walks. As for not seeing me, I was usually with my boyfriend Theo. Heh, I mean, ex. He broke up with me today. And that is why our first interaction is you waking up to me, sobbing pathetically into my ice cream while listening to Dirty Dancing. Because I am sad, and ice cream is good.”
Derek kind of snorted. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that feeling. He watched as Stiles curled back up in his blanket, right there on the floor, eating his ice cream again. The guy was cute. He had short brown hair, and big calf eyes that looked like a good gin and coke. His skin was pale and his limbs long, dotted over with moles that gave him an innocent type of charm.
If Derek were being honest, he would say that the resemblance between Stiles and Lydia is almost non-existent. But he could see it, in the curve of his mouth, the way he held himself even when he was sad. Stiles and Lydia shared the same blood, and Lydia would probably castrate him if he left her brother on the floor crying. At least, that was the excuse he gave himself as he hoisted the boy up onto the couch to curl against his chest. The fact that he was kind of dying to know if Stiles smelled as sweet as he looked? Irrelevant to his decision making process. And you know, if he was finally able to get restful sleep curled around the beautiful anomaly that is Stiles, no one needed to know.