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Stiles has one coffee shop that he's been to enough times for the staff to know his precise order. A hot chocolate with a dash of vanilla and a hint of nutmeg, with cream on top, hold the marshmallows. He doesn't need to say anything anymore -- by the time he reaches the till his drink is ready in the most recent takeaway cup, protective sleeve slipped right where he would usually put it, lid open and the chocolate sprinkler sitting next to it so he can add a dash himself. None of them do that for him, knowing that the amount of sprinkles varies depending on the day.
It's only one when it's a regular day, three and more if there's been a supernatural emergency that has left him drained of energy -- and of his power, but it's not like he can tell anyone outside the pack that.
They're normal people, or as normal as anyone in Beacon Hills can possibly be, just staff in a small coffee shop near the Sheriff's Station, opened only about a year earlier, after the worst of the war had been fought. After the Void, after Gerard, after everything else. After the pack managed to bring back Erica and Boyd.
Today is a single sprinkle day, just a run-of-the-mill Tuesday, the worst of the damage being a broken printer in the station that caused Stiles to stay behind an extra half hour to deal with paperwork. The design on the heat sleeve matches the cup, the drawing on it lining up perfectly. It's winter themed, with snowflakes and little trees, and it reminds Stiles of the upcoming holidays. Not that he's going to get much time off, now that he's in the part of his law enforcement training that requires him to be a probie, a patrol officer with the shifts that seem like punishment and like proof that, despite being related to the Sheriff, he's not getting special treatment. It means that he's in the shop at their opening time, circles under his eyes after yet another night shift, and too tired to pay attention to anything other than the cup in his hand.
"Hey, officer," the girl at the counter says cheerfully -- Stiles squints at the name tag that reads Danielle -- way too cheerfully for this time of the morning. "You gonna try to win the year's supply of your favorite drink?"
"Huh?" Stiles looks at her in confusion, eyes narrowing at the sign she's pointing at.
He reads it slowly, his brain too tired to easily parse the information, and when he looks at her again, she's still smiling.
"I figured you'd want to know," she says. "Can't imagine you'd want to miss out on having your daily drink be free for a while."
The sign declares proudly that to honor the upcoming festivities, the shop is going to run a snowman building competition during the town's celebrations. The aim is to build the most impressive snow person. The winner is to walk away with the grand prize of 365 vouchers for a free beverage of their choice. Stiles absentmindedly hands over a bill then looks at it and sighs.
"Yeah, sounds good," he mutters as he grabs his change.
He's not really thinking about it though, despite the temptation to sign up right there and then. The sign says that there's more information on the shop's website, so he snaps a photo for himself and then he adds a reminder to check it out after he's slept for a while. By the time he gets home, he's too tired to look up the competition. He's asleep before he even looks at his phone again.
-=-=-=-=-
He almost forgets about the competition because everything goes to hell in a handbasket the next day. His shifts almost double because several of the officers from the station come down with the flu -- he's already prepared a lecture on vaccinations for when everyone's back -- and there's a ghoul who decided to haunt the local cemetery. Sure, it's sort of fitting for Halloween, but at the same time, there are too many townspeople who aren't supernatural-savvy who find it creepy and worthy of a police report. At least they think it's high school kids pulling pranks and no one freaks out beyond measure.
The next time he gets to stop in the coffee shop for his favorite drink, it's decidedly a double cream, three types of sprinkles kind of a day. Stiles slumps into one of the chairs once his drink is ready and his eyes land on the notice board that still has the competition announcement. This time, he pulls up the website on his phone and reads through the rules.
They seem simple: there will be a snowman building contest at the beginning of December, on the day when the town's annual Christmas market opens -- he snorts when he realizes that they might not even have snow in town yet -- and the winner will end up with a voucher for a free daily beverage of their choice for the next year. The thought of getting his chocolate daily without having to count the pennies is more than inviting, so Stiles reads through the terms carefully. By the time he's finished his drink and feels marginally more awake and functional, he knows he's going to sign up. He heads up to the counter where the sign up sheet is and scribbles down his name.
"You got a partner for the contest?" Danielle asks. "You don't need one," she adds quickly when Stiles looks at her, alarmed. "Quite a few people signed up in pairs though."
Stiles runs his eyes over the list and spots several familiar names -- there's Scott with Allison's name next to his, Erica and Boyd, Isaac's name with an empty space beside it, even Lydia -- and sighs.
"No idea if there's anyone I can rope into this," he says. "We'll see."
The thought doesn't hit him until he's driving up to the Preserve later that day.
Derek .
-=-=-=-=-
"No," Derek says, sounding as firm as Stiles ever heard him.
"But--" Stiles tries, but he's met with a glare, a flash of red in Derek's eyes, and a dead silence.
Like Derek thinks that any of that is intimidating to Stiles, after all the years that they've known each other. Stiles snorts and crosses his arms over his chest, then he lifts an eyebrow.
"Are you like, exceptionally bad at building snowmen?"
Derek glares harder.
"I mean, why else would you be so determined to not take part? Or did you already promise Isaac? I know he didn't have a partner when he signed up, I saw the sheet in the shop," Stiles rattles off, narrowing his eyes at Derek.
"No."
"You said that already."
"And I'll keep saying it until you stop asking. No means no, Stiles," Derek tells him firmly.
Stiles's shoulders slump. Normally, he'd continue arguing his case, continue trying to convince Derek to sign up with him. But it looks like Derek's not the kind to take part in fun . Stiles knows that he can be, but apparently building snowmen is a step too far.
Then he gets an idea.
"Okay, so," he starts and pointedly ignores Derek's continued glaring. "If you're not going to build a snowman with me, would you mind being a model for mine?"
Derek levels him with a glare and his expression amounts to "what would make you think I'd agree to that", also known as "eyebrows number 24" in Stiles's internal sorting system for Derek's non-verbal communication.
"Come on ," Stiles says, not proud of his pleading tone but also not willing to let up. "It's a whole year's worth of drinks. The hot chocolate from Beacon Beans ."
"I know what shop is running the competition," Derek tells him gruffly.
"Wait, you know?" Stiles asks, surprised. "So you did sign up with Isaac, did you?"
"No. I get my coffee there," Derek says, blushing a little, the flush barely visible on his cheeks.
Only, Stiles is watching. Stiles is permanently in observation and investigation mode, a little more focused when it comes to Derek, not that he'd admit that out loud.
"Why are you blushing? Did you just lie to me?"
"What? No!"
"It's not coffee you get there, is it?" Stiles asks, his tone turning gleeful, because it seems like he's about to discover a secret.
Derek frowns and then sighs in the most exasperated way, the kind that's normally reserved for Stiles.
"Look," he says, eyes rolled up, "if I agree to take part in this competition thing, will you leave me be?"
"Well, I mean," Stiles says, but he's already nodding, "if we're doing this together , then you can't be a part of the team in name only. I will need full participation and cooperation and--"
"Fine."
Stiles stops in his tracks and stares. Sure, he heard Derek's words earlier, but his brain didn't catch on to the fact that it's a real possibility that Derek would agree to take part in the contest.
"Seriously?"
He should take the answer and run with it. But still, he doesn't want to force Derek, just gently convince him that it's a good idea and that the grand prize is worth it.
"I said fine," Derek tells him, still sounding exasperated, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
Stiles, finally reminding himself that he shouldn't fight this, throws his hands up and whoops. Then he pointedly ignores Derek's glare because he's not going to hold back his joy at having a team.
"We are so totally going to kick everyone's...." he pauses and smirks, "snowmen."
"No sabotage," Derek says. "If we're going to win this, we're going to win fair and square, not because you distracted Scott and challenged Erica into something way beyond her abilities."
"Like Erica has a limit to her abilities." Stiles snorts. "And she's teamed up with Boyd.... also, how do you know who's participating?"
"I said I got my drinks there, didn't I?" Derek tells him, turning away.
Stiles doesn't miss the hint of red on Derek's cheeks, but he decides to leave it be. For now. Instead, he starts talking about his ideas for the snowperson. Derek seems to listen, but also looks like he's not entirely interested, which is kind of what Stiles was expecting.
It's not until a week before the Christmas market opening that Stiles starts panicking. Sure, he has sketches and ideas, but there has been no snow in town, so he didn't get a chance to do a practice run with the snow person he wants to compete with. He turns up at the loft, armed with printouts and notes and hope that Derek will have at least a little something to contribute. There's no sign of Derek though, not even his Camaro in front of the building. Stiles sighs and drops his stuff back in his Jeep, then digs his phone out of his pocket and starts typing a text.
> Derek: Where are you?
There's nothing, not even the dots signaling that Derek's typing back, so Stiles tosses his phone on the passenger seat and wonders whether he should just go home. He's about to turn into his street when his phone chimes with an incoming message, so he pulls over and grabs it.
<Derek: Preserve. Turn left at the house, 2 miles up.
Stiles stares at his phone. There's no explanation, no message before this one that he would have missed. nothing that would tell him why he should drive up to the Preserve and follow Derek's directions.
> Derek: Is that your body disposal site?
He doesn't get a response until he's at the entrance to the Preserve.
< Derek: No. Just get here.
> Derek: OMW.
He doesn't look at his phone again as he drives past the new house that's being built in place of the old one, nor when he follows the road that Derek directed him to. He's never been this far up in the forest, not even when he and Scott used to come out here exploring or when they were tracking the creatures that seemed to keep coming back to Beacon Hills. It's not a good road, not as well-worn as the ones that he normally drives on, and he's already planning to send Derek the next mechanic's bill if Roscoe comes to any harm making it up the hill.
But all the thoughts die on his lip when he turns the final corner and comes out into open space past the tree line and he slams on the brakes, then pauses to quietly mumble an apology to Roscoe.
A shiver runs down his spine when he climbs out of the Jeep. Not because he stumbled upon something terrifying, but because it's actually cold up here. And -- he assumes that's the reason why Derek told him to come up here -- the entire clearing is covered in soft and pure white snow.
"Wow," he manages to say into the eerie silence.
Then he hears a chuckle behind his back and turns around to come face to face with Derek.
"Dude."
Immediately, Derek's smirk turns into a frown.
"Don't call me dude," he says. "So, what do you think?"
"About?"
"The snow," Derek says, the obviously clear in his tone.
Stiles blinks a few times to clear his head, then he smiles and only just holds back the urge to hug Derek. Because while Derek's a lot less abrasive nowadays, he's never given anyone the impression of being a hugger. Not even the romantic partners he had through the years seemed to show physical affection or general PDA.
"Does anyone else know about this?" Stiles asks, glancing around at the fresh powder.
"Just me. None of the pack comes up this way, but we used to spend time here as kids," Derek says, sounding a little wistful, but there's a soft smile on his lips when Stiles looks back at him. "It's always the first place to get snow and sometimes the only ."
"I still don't know how the town is planning to run a competition that requires snow when it rarely ever snows enough in Beacon Hills," Stiles muses, mostly to himself.
"Snow machines," Derek tells him, walking past the Jeep and onto the snow.
"Well, that would be the logical conclusion, yes," Stiles says and steps forward too, then shivers again as a gust of wind hits him.
Derek shakes his head as he turns around, then narrows his eyes when he sees Stiles wrapping his arms around himself.
"No," he says. "I talked to some people who are running stalls at the market and that's what they've been told by the organizing committee. They know the town won't be cold enough, but they want the full winter experience."
"Right," Stiles says, then looks at Derek who's walking back to him and shrugging off his jacket -- a warm and fuzzy-looking one that Stiles has never seen before.
"Here," Derek says, handing the jacket over. "Wouldn't want you to freeze."
"So charitable," Stiles snarks, but he takes the jacket and pulls it on.
He immediately feels the warmth and smells Derek's aftershave, which makes his stomach give a little flip that he's resolutely ignoring.
"Not charity," Derek says. "We're a team for this one, can't have the weakest link ruin my chances."
"Ha ha. So funny."
Stiles knows that his tone is nowhere near as dry and flat as Derek can make his, but he tries. The jacket is doing enough that his mind is refocusing on the task at hand -- that is, the plan for their snow person.
"Oh, right," he says when he finally manages to focus properly, even with the odd warmth at the edges of his mind that has nothing to do with the jacket, and with the frost making his toes tingle since Converse are very much not shoes to wear in snow. "I had some ideas for our project," he continues and heads back to Roscoe. "You're welcome to chime in, or tell me if you thought about anything, but these are pretty awesome, if I may say so."
He pulls out the sketches and printouts and hands them to Derek, who's looking infuriatingly comfortable in the cold, like it's not affecting him at all.
"Stiles, no," Derek says a little while later. "We are not making a snowman for each member of the pack."
"Well obviously not. Erica's would be a snow woman ."
"That's not what I mean and you know it," Derek tells him, crumpling up that page and sticking it into the back pocket of his jeans.
Stiles pointedly looks somewhere else.
"Fine, no snow pack. I liked that one though," he says, a little disappointed. "What about the others?"
Derek nods at one of the print-outs and hands it to Stiles. It's not a person but a wolf, in true-to-life size, with details that Stiles doesn't think he can manage. He only added it to the pile because it looked amazing and he couldn't help admiring the skills that went into the sculpture.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I like that one," Derek says.
"Of course you do, it's fantastic. But can we do it?"
Derek lifts an eyebrow as he looks at Stiles, then nods slowly, pointedly, like he's completely sure that the snow wolf is within his skillset. Stiles still has his doubts, but the hopeful part of him does an internal fist pump because if they do manage to pull it off, the win is undoubtedly theirs.
"Okay, show me what you've got," he says instead of voicing his pre-celebratory thoughts.
After all, he doesn't want to jinx them.
-=-=-=-=-
The week leading up to the competition feels like it's flying by faster than Stiles would want it to. He spends all his free time up in the forest with Derek, ignoring the curious looks from the rest of the pack. They all know who's signed up for the competition and who's not, but they still seem to be suspicious of Derek and Stiles in particular.
Stiles figures it's for a good enough reason. While all the others can only make theoretical plans -- Erica and Boyd in particular seem to be intent on just winging it on the day of the contest -- Stiles and Derek are getting actual practice in building the wolf they chose as their project.
It's amazing too, because apparently Derek has artistic skills that no one in the pack knew about. Not that there was much time to discuss things like that in the past, but Stiles is still genuinely fascinated with watching Derek move around the snow and add in details to the wolf that not even the one that Stiles printed out had.
"I am absolutely, totally, so very grateful that I managed to convince you to take part in this," Stiles says the day before the contest, looking at the final version of the snow wolf.
"I was going to sign up anyway," Derek comments, brushing a little piece of ice from the wolf's ear. "But without a partner."
Stiles stares at him with his jaw dropped.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I wouldn't have come up with this ," Derek points at the wolf. "So it's for the best, really."
"Yeah but, I bet you would've done something just as awesome," Stiles says. "And then you wouldn't have to share the prize."
There's a beat, a moment of silence as Stiles looks at Derek's face and watches the minuscule changes in his expression. Some of them he knows -- exasperation, a hint of fondness that he can't explain -- but then Derek settles on something that Stiles doesn't remember seeing, ever. His lips are curled into a smile, which isn't as unusual anymore as it used to be, but there's also a hint of softness in his eyes. Without thinking, Stiles lifts an eyebrow in question.
"I won't mind," Derek says.
"Huh?"
"If we win--"
" When ," Stiles interrupts, glancing at the wolf.
" If we win," Derek repeats stubbornly, "I won't mind. Sharing the prize with you."
"Like..." Stiles starts, then pauses and takes a breath, his mind trying to join all the dots. "Like you won't mind only getting half of the vouchers? Or, I don't know how they're doing it really, so like, only maybe getting a free drink every other day?"
"It's a gift card. With a year's worth of credit," Derek tells him. "I asked."
"Oh. so like, we'll need to meet to swap it? Or leave it at the counter, so..."
"We could just..."
They both trail off and Derek ducks his head, then looks up with a smile. And that's an expression that Stiles knows -- the coy smile, the softness in Derek's face, the emerging blush in his cheeks.
Oh .
"If you would want to," Derek says quietly. "I wouldn't mind us getting the drinks together."
"Like, friends? Snow wolf building partners?"
"If that's what you want."
Stiles feels his eyes widen. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but Derek is making it not in the slightest easy to avoid them. In fact, he's opening doors to ideas that Stiles has shelved away quite some time ago.
"What else is an option?"
He's hesitant to ask, but he does because he's not willing to risk missing another chance. Or his first one, really, since he never thought he had a chance to begin with.
"A coffee date?"
Stiles can barely hear the words, they're so quiet and cautious, Derek obviously as hesitant to assume Stiles will say yes as Stiles was to let himself hope that this was in the cards.
"Well, now we definitely need to win," he says, lips turning up into a smile.
Derek looks at him, eyes wide in surprise, then he beams with more happiness that Stiles has ever seen on it, other than when Cora decided to visit. It's a bright, open, blinding smile that makes Stiles want to run to Derek and....
"We will," Derek says, breaking the moment. "We definitely will."
-=-=-=-=-
They do win. It's not as easy a win as Stiles assumed -- Lydia did calculations because of course she did, Boyd brought his experience with ice from his time working at the ice rink into play, the others had plans that mostly worked out -- but they are the ones, at the end of the judging, who get the gift card.
Stiles holds it like it's a precious gem, already planning all the hot chocolates that he's going to get. But then he looks up and sees Derek smiling softly at him and Stiles's heart does something that he doesn't remember it doing in a long time.
"So, uh," he starts, but finds himself lost for words.
"You can keep it," Derek says without hesitation, nodding to the gift card.
"What?"
It's not what Stiles expected him to say. He figured this would be the moment when they'd make arrangements for when they're going to meet up, have their dates . Because that's what they said they'd do with their winnings.
"You can keep the card," Derek repeats, like it's about Stiles not hearing what he said.
"That's... what?"
"I don't need the free drinks," Derek tells him with a shrug. "I figure you need the caffeine or sugar boost more."
Stiles stares.
"And I'd like if you joined me sometimes, without that card, for a date," Derek says then, smiling brightly, his eyes glowing with glee.
"You asshole ," Stiles tells him glaring., "I thought you were backing out of all that."
"Not unless you want me to," Derek says, then ducks his head, his cheeks burning. "I just--" he looks up at Stiles again, "--I want us to have proper dates. When it's not about this . But about us."
Stiles laughs and nods.
"Wait," he says then, narrowing his eyes, "does this mean I'll finally find out what your favorite drink is?"
Derek's cheeks turn even darker and he shakes his head, but doesn't really answer. Instead, he holds out his hand to Stiles and waits. Stiles tucks the gift card into his pocket and takes Derek's hand, ignoring the whistles and whoops from the pack, all of whom are still there, watching Derek and Stiles with way too much interest.
"No, seriously, what is it that you order? Can I ask Danielle?"
"No."
"Der ek ," Stiles tries again, giving Derek's hand a soft squeeze.
"No, you may not ask Danielle. She wouldn't tell you anyway," Derek says. "She's sworn to secrecy."
"Oooh, did you flash your eyes? Did you creep her out with your big bad Alpha stare? Wait, is that like the opposite of the Care Bear stare?"
Derek sighs loudly and shakes his head again, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.
"Are you in the mood for a hot drink now?"
Stiles nods eagerly. He'd try to contain his excitement but he's pretty sure that Derek and his werewolf nose are already attuned to his mood, so there's no point pretending.
"Are you willing to spend more time with me?"
"Come on, before I change my mind," Derek says and starts walking toward their cars.
-=-=-=-=-
"Seriously?"
Derek glares as they settle on the bar stools by the window, looking out at the square where Beacon Beans is. Stiles is staring at the mug that Derek set down in front of him, his own hot chocolate -- no sprinkles, tons of cream, one marshmallow on top -- still in his hand.
"Dude, I would have taken you for a plain americano, no sugar, no milk guy," Stiles says as he slides up on his stool and finally puts his mug down. "This is... unexpected."
He doesn't get a reaction other than another glare.
"I don't mean that in a bad way," Stiles continues talking. "It's cute. I love that you get the marshmallows. And the caramel syrup. And... wait, is that candy?"
"Gummy bears," Derek mumbles, his cheeks burning. "It's a winter special. I had a voucher last year for one of these," he nods at the concoction in his mug, "and the staff said it was only for this drink. So I got it and it's... nice."
"It looks like a heart attack and a sugar coma in a mug," Stiles says. "Did they actually give you a lollipop with it?"
There's a poster at the door that he saw this drink on, in its full glory. He didn't see it before, didn't remember it from the year before, but he's taking Derek's word for it. It looks like it's going to burst at the seams and pour out of the sides of the mug, because it has everything imaginable -- gummy bears, chocolate curls, popping candy if he's not mistaken -- and then there's a lollipop stuck into the pile of whipped cream on top.
"You can have it," Derek says and tugs the sucker out of his pocket, then sets it on the table between them. "This is enough."
"I can't help but agree with that statement," Stiles notes, looking at Derek's drink again -- at least he hopes that there's a drink underneath all those sweets. "So, your secret is that you have a ridiculously adorable sweet tooth."
Derek's cheeks turn another shade darker. He doesn't say anything, just scoops up a bit of the cream from the top and sticks it in his mouth, then makes a face when the popping candy hits his tongue.
"I thought I was bad with this," Stiles points at his own mug. "It's usually a bit more.... decorated than today."
"I know," Derek says, then ducks his head like he didn't mean to blurt that out.
"What do you mean, you know?" Stiles asks, alarmed.
"You haven't seen me in here," Derek says quietly. "But I've seen you."
"When?"
"A few times after your night shift, I think," Derek tells him, still blushing. "And after some rough nights with the pack a few months ago. You always had cream and overused the shakers, at least the one with cocoa."
"Were you watching me ?" Stiles asks, eyes wide open.
"That night with the chimera, yeah," Derek says, sounding contrite. "You wouldn't let anyone drive you home, but you looked dead on your feet. I wanted to make sure you got back safe."
Stiles looks at him properly, takes in Derek's blushing cheeks, the shy and apologetic expression in his face.
"That's... well, I should probably think creepy , but it's kind of cute," he says. "You should have said something."
"I didn't think you'd be interested in," Derek starts, then pauses to take a breath before he continues. "Well, in me being interested."
Stiles smiles at him and moves his hand, then nudges Derek's. Derek glances down and lets go of his mug, then rests his hand on the table, palm up. Stiles easily slides his fingers between Derek's and squeezes.
"I am. I was. I will be for as long as you'll put up with me," he says.
Derek mutters something unintelligible, but it sounds a lot like forever .
Stiles is good with that, really. He gives Derek's hand another gentle squeeze and smiles, then sips on his hot chocolate as he watches Derek poke at the mess of sugary goodness on top of his. Their hands are still linked and Stiles thinks that yeah, he could absolutely get used to this.
