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Stiles is on his fourth cup of coffee and contemplating a fifth when a man walks into the shop. His coffee dilemma is immediately pushed to the side, since even his multitasking brain can’t focus on anything more than the hottest stranger he’s ever seen . Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to ogle shamelessly because the dude immediately heads in Stiles’ direction. He quickly takes a seat at the only free table left by the window, but it’s still long enough for Stiles to get a glimpse of dark hair, scruff, and the kind of muscle tone that he could never hope to achieve.
Trying to focus on his dissertation is now a moot point, because no amount of coffee is going to keep him focused while he’s got Mr. Hot Stuff beside him, melting his brain. Also, he can literally smell whatever fresh, woodsy scent the guy is wearing, they’re sitting so close. Distracting is an understatement.
With the way the guy keeps glancing nervously at his watch, Stiles can only assume he’s waiting for either a date or a bookie to arrive. Stiles’ interest is piqued. He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, though, because not two minutes later another guy strolls into the shop. This one is considerably less noteworthy, unless the scarf he’s wearing in the middle of the sweltering California summer counts. Stiles wonders if the guy stepped in dog shit, or if his face is normally scrunched up like a pug’s.
When the new arrival’s eye catches on Derek’s table, the face is replaced with a semi-genuine smile as he crosses over to fold himself into the small chair.
“You’re a hard guy to track down,” Pug Face jokes, holding out a hand. “Jackson. Nice to finally meet you.”
Mr. Hot Stuff accepts the offered hand, only to drop it a few moments later when the handshake is more of the limp-fish variety. “Derek. Sorry, I know this place can be a little difficult to find.”
So, first date it is, Stiles muses. And a blind one, at that! Stiles pretends to focus on the laptop in front of him, despite the fact that he is now solely invested in the outcome of this date. His immediate boner-crush on Mr. Hot Stuff Derek notwithstanding, of course.
“Well, let’s order then, shall we?” Jackson says, suddenly raising his arm to snap at the woman at the counter. “Barista! Two dark roasts!”
Derek grimaces, and Stiles can’t blame him. What kind of douche-canoe snaps at someone?
“I usually just order at the counter,” Derek says quietly.
Jackson dismisses the comment with a wave of his hand. “It’s what they’re paid for.”
Stiles can feel his respect for the guy drop to dangerous levels as he pretends to type on his keyboard.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Derek asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Oh, I’m a writer,” Jackson boasts, leaning back and puffing out his chest arrogantly. “I’m actually writing a screenplay right now. It’s about this guy who’s trying to find his place in life. Trying to fit in, you know? But he doesn’t—he can’t —because he’s not like everyone else. He’s just...different.”
Derek hums noncommittally and seems to be searching the shop for something else to talk about, but Jackson just ploughs on.
“I mean, it’s not ready yet. I’m kind of a perfectionist. I wouldn’t let sub-par work have my name on it, which is why none of my work is published yet.” Jackson winks and Stiles can barely contain his eye roll. “I don’t think people are really ready for my work anyway, though. It’s deep stuff.”
Yeah , Stiles thinks, a deep pile of shit .
“That sounds difficult,” Derek says.
“I mean, it is,” Jackson nods. “I am an artist struggling with his craft. People just don’t understand how hard writing can be. They think you can sit down and just scratch out some words and suddenly: genius! It’s not like that, though. You have to really know yourself, be willing to wrestle with your inner demons. And some people don’t cut it. They can’t handle the isolation that comes from really amazing writing. But that’s the sacrifice we make.”
The barista arrives with their coffee, effectively cutting off that line of conversation, for which Derek looks grateful. Stiles wouldn’t be so sure she hadn’t spit in their coffee for how Jackson had acted, but he sees Derek slip her an extra ten dollars before Jackson waves her off, which seems to lessen her scowl a bit.
“So, have you ever dated a writer?” Jackson asks, lifting the coffee cup to breathe in the aroma. Stiles thinks it may be the first question Jackson has actually asked, and yet he still manages to make it revolve around him. It’d almost be impressive if it weren’t such an asshole move.
“I can’t say that I have,” Derek replies, reaching for the cream and sugar sitting on the table while Jackson looks on in disapproval. “Have you?”
“Not really,” Jackson says. “It’s hard to get involved with someone when you’re both so tied to your own work. I did date an actor once, though. He told me I was born to be in the theatre, so maybe someday I’ll try my hand at being on the other end of the screenplay. People do say I look like Zac Efron.”
What the hell is with this guy, anyway? Stiles wonders. If he were Derek, he’d have given up on this date a long time ago. Derek seems almost too polite for his own good, though Stiles can’t really fault him for that. He continues asking Jackson polite questions, until Jackson interrupts him with a gag.
Derek looks on in concern. “Are you okay?”
Jackson sets down his coffee, his pug face even more pronounced now that he’s actively scowling. “The body of this coffee is terrible. Really, how can you stand this place?”
“Oh,” Derek stammers helplessly. “Well, my sister and I—”
“I’d rather have my taste buds seared off than drink another cup here. I know a much better place a few blocks from here that doesn’t over-roast their beans. You should let me take you there next time we meet.”
Stiles almost groans aloud at the thought of suffering through another date with this guy, and it’s not even his date. Derek seems to share the sentiment, at the very least, but is too well-mannered to mention it.
“I don’t really mind it,” he says quietly.
“Well,” Jackson scoffs, “you effectively ruined any taste once you dumped that creamer in, so I’m not really surprised.”
Stiles looks over at Jackson incredulously, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s been eavesdropping. What a total bag of dicks . Derek looks down into his cup, clearly holding back whatever he wants to say in response.
“Tell me something to get my mind off this taste,” Jackson requests, oblivious. “What is it you do again?”
“I work for a nonprofit called the Anti-Arson Alliance,” Derek replies, sounding truly excited for the first time. “We deal jointly with the fire department and people who’ve lost their homes to arson, helping them rebuild and aiming to prevent future incidents.”
Stiles wants to hear more, even if it’s only to listen to the passion in Derek’s voice as he talks about his work, but of course the effect is ruined once Jackson opens his mouth.
“It sucks that you’re stuck in that position,” Jackson says, sounding almost sincere.
“I actually find it really rewarding to—”
“I mean, have you ever really seen a nonprofit at work? I have. I looked into making one, once. But most are doomed to fail, because they are too small-minded. Nonprofits are so focused on what they do that they don’t bother anything daring or brave in their fundraising. They’re killing the innovative mind with their repetitive backwash, don’t you think?”
“There’s nothing wrong with small-scale fundraising,” Derek replies, gaze trained on the table.
“Well, sure, if you’re not looking to go anywhere in life. But who wants that? I literally could never work somewhere that limits my potential for growth. It’s in my nature to be bold and creative, to make something original that nobody has tried before,” Jackson laments. “It’s really too bad, because I’d be great at running a nonprofit.”
Stiles snorts involuntarily at the statement, quickly turning it into a cough when Jackson glances over in disdain.
“I’m far more interested in the the arts anyway. Give me a paintbrush, or a pen, or even a whisk, for goodness’ sake.”
Derek seems to latch onto the comment, desperate for another subject change. “I love to cook. My family actually—”
“Oh, well,” Jackson interrupts, ruining the moment. “If you love food, then you should try my Romesco sauce. My friend—he’s a pretty well-known chef around here, Danny Mahealani? Have you heard of him? Anyway, he says my sauce is even better than his.”
Stiles mentally facepalms at the trainwreck of this date. He’s not sure how much more he can take, but now he’s actually invested in the outcome.
“Sounds...good,” Derek attempts, which is the overstatement of the century. “So, uh, do you have any family?”
“What, like a kid?” Jackson laughs.
“Well, no, I meant—”
“A lot of my friends have kids now,” Jackson barrells on, and Stiles is beginning to wonder if he’s just making up all of these friends. After all, how many people could stand to be around this guy on a regular basis? “But I don’t know if it’s for me. I mean, I can barely handle myself, let alone a kid, you know?”
“Yeah,” Derek mumbles, not even attempting to derail the conversation at this point. Stiles isn’t really sure it’s salvageable anyway.
“I guess, deep down, I worry that I’ll be like my father. He’s always made me pretty insecure about fatherhood in general, and I don’t know if I could bring a kid into my life with that hanging over my shoulder.”
Is this guy seriously blaming his immaturity and self-absorption on daddy issues ? Derek has a look of mild panic on his face, and Stiles can’t even blame him. It’s safe to say this date has been complete garbage from the start and it’s only gone downhill from there.
“Does this place even have a restroom?” Jackson suddenly asks, looking around as if actually seeing the shop for the first time since stepping in.
“Yeah,” Derek points, practically sighing in relief. “Hang a right and it’ll be back there.”
“I’ll be right back,” Jackson replies with a skeevy wink.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Stiles leaps on his chance. “I’d ditch him now, if I were you.”
Derek jumps, obviously not expecting the comment. “Pardon me?”
“You know he’s gonna come back here and invite you back to his place,” Stiles continues easily, resting one arm over the back of his chair so he can turn and face Derek. “Once there, you’ll either be subjected to some awkward groping or one of his terrible screenplays. I’m not really sure which one would be worse at this point.”
Derek shakes his head, looking like he’s fighting a smile. “I can’t just leave.”
“Why not? You already paid, and I think you’ve suffered through enough of the date to call it a failure at this point. Also, did you see the half-bottle of gel he had in his hair? I’m pretty sure that shit could withstand a nuclear bomb.”
“It’s rude,” Derek replies, seemingly unable to think of any other reason.
“Look, I’ll tell him you had a family emergency and had to run, if that’ll make you feel better,” Stiles offers. He pauses, considering. “Unless you’re actually into this guy?”
“No!” Derek replies too quickly, making Stiles grin. “No, I’m just...you’d really do that?”
“At this point, I’d literally pay to make him go away.”
“Well...I, uh. That’s really kind of you.”
“It’s really not,” Stiles says. “Common decency dictates one bail a brother out when faced with such an unqualified display of douchebaggery.”
“Is that even a word?”
“I can’t believe you’re focused on my grammar right now,” Stiles whines. “Get out of here, before he comes back!”
Derek stands slowly. “Thanks, uh…”
“Stiles. And you’re Derek, yes, I heard.” Stiles grins, shoving Derek towards the door. “It’s been a pleasure.”
“Thanks, Stiles.”
He’s out the door before Stiles realizes that he’s just subjected himself to a one-on-one conversation with Derek’s asswipe blind date. Groaning inwardly, he tries to focus on the shy smile Derek gave him as he left instead.
“Uh…”
Stiles looks up to see Pug Face himself looking lost and confused.
“Derek had a family emergency. He sends his regrets.”
“He...what?”
“I’m sure he’ll text you,” Stiles offers in a bored tone.
Jackson frowns. “But he doesn’t even have my number.”
“Mm, pity.” Stiles makes a show of returning his attention to his laptop, effectively ignoring Jackson until he turns and leaves the shop.
Finally .
***
Stiles is back in the shop three days later, having ditched the university library for a less stifling atmosphere, when he sees Derek again. He is huddled in a corner table, reading a book and looking far more relaxed than he had the last time Stiles had seen him. Stiles walks over before he can think better of it, plopping unceremoniously into the chair across from Derek.
“What, no blind date this time?” Stiles jokes, setting up shop on the empty table.
“You know, there are rules about this sort of thing,” Derek replies easily.
Stiles snorts. “And what exactly might those be?”
“A book is a clear indicator that someone wants to be left alone.”
Stiles pauses, assessing Derek’s posture and the book in hand. “Seems to me if you wanted to be alone, you could’ve stayed away from a crowded coffee shop.”
Derek looks pointedly at the empty tables surrounding them, raising his brows at Stiles.
Stiles chuckles and shakes his head, focusing on booting up his laptop.
“And here I thought saving you would at least warrant a “hello.” I’m Stiles, by the way, in case you forgot.” He types in his password and logs in before looking up with an easy grin. “And you’re sassy when your date isn’t being a total dick. It’s cute.”
Derek coughs, choking a little on his coffee when Stiles winks at him.
“I’d rather not be reminded of that lapse of judgement, if it’s all the same to you.”
Stiles nods. “You’re right. It’s a bit tacky to discuss previous men with your current date anyway.”
“My...date?”
“I figure this can be a trial run before I actually take you somewhere,” Stiles barrels on, “you know, in case you decide I’m on par with the asshole-who-shall-not-be-named. But fair warning: I’m totally planning on asking you out after this.”
Derek’s already hiding back behind his book, but Stiles can see his eyes crinkle a bit in mirth and the barest hint of a blush on his cheeks.
“I don’t think I can date someone who ignores the basic rules of coffee shop etiquette,” Derek quips, eyes drifting up to meet Stiles’ gaze.
Stiles is delighted that Derek’s playing along and mimes locking his lips up and throwing away the key. If a couple hours of companionable silence are what it takes to win a date with someone
this
charming and good-looking, Stiles is up for the challenge.