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At this time the subway was always cramped and crowded. It smelled like dried, stale sweat and musky mold. Derek was pretty sure he could smell something akin to fried rotten meat and it came from a woman down the car plunging her face into the white paper wrapping of something. The corners of his lips turned down in distaste as he watched a man nearby shamelessly dig an index finger into his nostril and slide the digit straight into his mouth afterwards. Swallowing down bile and regret that he didn't stay in the office another hour or two, his pale gaze shot downward. By now he knew better: watching people in the subway was never a good idea. They were always doing things like they thought no one else could see. Hell, one night he rode home a little later than this and there was a girl, sprawled out across a row of seats, with her head in a guy's lap under a blanket. As if that weren't obvious.
Sighing lightly he picked fuzz off his wool coat and reminded himself he wore it because it was cold outside. The car was stifling and muggy, but that was nothing new. It jerked to a halt and he tightened his grip on the pole, thankful it was cold enough that his leather gloves weren't a mere fashion statement. There were normal, clean looking people on the train, sure, but the subway was the great equalizer. It was how everyone got around except for the gridlocked, horn-honking drivers above ground. Derek didn’t have time to waste sitting in a car for hours.
Someone bumped into him and he shifted his attaché to his front, out of instinct. He hadn't even seen who it was, but pickpockets were pretty common and he wasn't willing to have the identities of his clients stolen, nor his own. He stood up straight against the pole as an overweight elderly woman limped in, likely to lean against the wall because there weren't any empty seats. Derek looked at disinterested and unaffected businessmen and young women who didn't move for someone who clearly needed a seat more than they did.
Movement caught his eye and he glanced up to where the old lady stood. She smiled at a tall, lanky figure that gestured to the seat and waved his hands like he was assuring her that it was fine. The movements were too large for the cramped car and a few people eyeballed him, hard, ready to yell or scoff when one of those hands struck. One of those big, pale hands with long, slender fingers. Derek thought he saw a mole on the back of one but the guy lowered it too fast to be sure.
Derek's gaze skimmed over the guy's clothes out of habit. It was cold out, so he tried to reserve judgment at the hoodie because the jeans were a dark wash with a nice, tight fit. He may or may not have taken an extra few moments to check out the guy's pert little butt, and fantasize about those legs wrapped around his waist. It wasn't often Derek had dirty daydreams about strangers, but what was the harm?
Well, the guy catching him, for one. Derek had been staring without seeing for a little too long and when he blinked the guy's crotch came into focus now. His gaze skimmed over it quickly, up the front of the hoodie, and he caught sight of a backpack in the guy's hands (smart, so no one could steal out the back while he wasn't looking, and he didn't take up more space). Those hands. They twitched a little, too. The fingers drummed against the top of his backpack as his thumbs supported it through the top loop.
Derek blinked again and looked away, missing how the guy smirked at him in amusement instead of scowling in distain. He missed the way whiskey-amber eyes took their time appreciating the way Derek's suit and coat were tailored to his body, the way they lingered over the obvious bump of Derek's butt and those big hands still holding the attaché in front of him. The stranger studied Derek's face for a long time: the bountiful well-trimmed scruff, the strong jaw, his pretty eyes that were an indiscernible color from that distance and softer than the rest of his features, the hair he really wanted to tug out of place just because it seemed like the guy took forever to get it right in the morning.
Another stop came and went, and when Derek glanced up the kid was still there. Well, not kid. Even though he was staring down at his phone he could tell the features were more developed. Even with the hoodie his shoulders were broad and filling out. Maybe early twenties, probably a college student, but that still made him a little young for Derek. Maybe. The guy looked up with a bored expression out the car window and gave Derek a perfect view of his profile: long and slender neck, gentle curve of his jaw to a strong chin, soft and full pink lips, a cute slightly upturned nose, and freckles and moles splattered all over his fair skin. Derek's jaw loosened and he exhaled quietly as he looked up and saw eyes that glittered even in the ugly light of the subway car. Derek glanced up a purposefully messy, soft brown hair but didn't linger for long; those eyes had his full attention.
Again, he was still looking when the guy glanced forward. This time he saw the smirk; the playful and clever way his lips curled at the corners and the ends of his eyes crinkled, just a little. The longer he looked the less smug the smile became; it blossomed into something more genuine, and a little uncertain, with teeth and lines along the sides of his mouth. Derek felt the corners of his own mouth twitch as the guy let loose a small chuckle, ducking his head. His lips rolled together in a thin line in an attempt to quell his laughter and smile, though when he gave Derek a sidelong glance and saw him smiling his shoulders lifted and his chest caved with another snort. Derek licked his lips as he watched the guy shyly tug his lower lip between his teeth.
Another stop and people bumped into him, jostling him a little farther down the car and that was fine because his stop was next, but it forced him to look away from college guy as he adjusted his position and let people through. He was looking the wrong direction to see that when someone bumped into him it was the guy in the hoodie. He caught the flash of red and felt the hand against his thigh too late; the guy was already out on the platform.
Brow wrinkling Derek assumed the worst and patted down his pockets for his wallet, until he realized for this very reason he kept it in his chest pocket in his suit. Tucking his fingers into his coat pocket he felt a small slip of rumpled paper and pulled it out. Frowning out of confusion he glanced down as he unfolded it.
Seven digits and a name (was "Stiles" a name?).
Derek glanced up to see the guy smiling brightly, giving him a little wave. He chucked his chin and looked toward Derek's hands with an encouraging smile. As the doors closed a wide smile broke out on Derek's features, revealing white bunny teeth and scrunching up his eyes. The guy, Stiles, seemed pleased when Derek lifted his hand and returned the little wave. He couldn't stop smiling the rest of the ride home.