Archive of Our Own ^beta

Derek polishes another glass, ears perking up when a few delicate chords strum up from the elegant grand piano in the corner. He turns and smiles fondly, watching Stiles’ pale fingers dance across the keys, Stiles’ pink lips approaching the microphone in front of him. “It’s that time of night, beautiful people dining at our lovely establishment, McCall’s thanks you, each and every one. This song goes out to the lovely Newton-Lees in the corner.” 

Stiles winks at the newly engaged couple, the young woman blushing as the man raises his glass to Stiles, mouthing a “thank you.” 

Derek pauses to admire the way Stiles’ beautiful hands splay out, fingers coaxing the chords from “Tale as Old as Time,” and then Stiles’ voice joins the melody, rich and soulful. 

He sighs a little, watching the couple step onto the dance floor, the woman laying her head on her fiancee’s shoulder, eyes closed happily as they say to the music, and one by one other couples join them.

It’s another usual night at McCall’s, the best combination steakhouse-danceclub in town, and Derek is yet again watching Stiles sing. 

Stiles dedicates songs to random patrons all the time, comes up with his own ballads, has a song dedicated to the head chef Scott’s uneven jawline, multiple songs about dessert chef Lydia’s hair, and will come up with amazing, heartfelt and beautiful songs on the fly about just about anything and everyone. All the regulars have their own songs, there are songs for dishes and even Isaac’s little bouncy walk when he brings out the dessert cart.

Derek’s worked at McCall’s for three years, just about as long Stiles has been the pianist, and not once has Stiles ever sung a song about him.

Derek doesn’t know how to bring it up without sounding petty; he knows they’re friends, at least, and everyone knows the unwritten rule at McCall’s is never, ever tell Stiles Stilinski about how madly Derek is in love with him. Derek can’t bear it at all to lose the friendship they’ve built up over the years, wouldn’t know how to tell Stiles anyways. How does he put into words that he keeps a recording of all of Stiles’ music on his iPod and listens to it when he falls asleep, that every time Stiles walks by his bar to banter and tease with him Derek’s day gets a little brighter, that Derek wants so badly to caress those beautiful pale fingers? 

You can’t, anyways. 

Derek is terrible at words.

So he tries not to take it personally when Stiles comes up with a song about the lovely bride-to-be’s multicolored hair, much to her delight. Stiles has never met this girl before in his life, and here he is waxing poetic about all the hues in her locks, when Derek’s the one who remembered Stiles’ incredibly tricky drink order from that first day they met three yeras ago, and still makes it perfect to his specifications every single time without Stiles prompting him. (Of course, Derek has plenty of motivation in the form of seeing Stiles lick his lips, throw his head back, sigh, and say, “Derek, you’re the only one that gets me,” every time he serves him his drink.

"Aw, what did that poor glass ever do to you?" 

Derek glances to his left where Erica is raising her eyebrow, and then looks back down at the glass he’s apparently been polishing for the last five minutes despite the fact that it’s probably been sparkling clean for the last four minutes.

"Two Long Islands, and a Manhattan, Mr. Piney-McPinerson ," she says, following Derek’s gaze to where Stiles is playing away at the piano, voice rising in a teasing lilt. 

"Shut up, Erica," Derek says, setting the glass down and getting started on the drinks. 

"Heads up, your surprise birthday party is tomorrow," she says in a mock-whisper. 

Derek scowls. “I can’t believe Scott is going ahead with this. I hate surprises.” 

"That’s why I’m telling you, to save you the shock, and also so you can prepare your surprised face," Erica says in a singsong voice.

"Thanks," Derek says, handing her the drinks.

The night ends well, Derek’s got a considerable amount of tips in his pocket, and he’s cleaned up the entire bar and left home for the night when he realizes he left his wallet underneath the bar. Derek groans and heads back towards the restaurant; entering it from the back. 

There’s a light on in the main dining room still, which is strange. Just one of the spotlights on the piano is on, one of the dimmer ones in a warm orange light, and Stiles is sitting on the bench, face scrunched up in concentration as he writes something on the sheet of music in front of him. The tuxedo jacket he wears normally as part of his show uniform is hanging on the bench next to him, and his dress shirt is unbuttoned enough to reveal his pale throat, suspenders tugged down.

Derek catches his breath; it looks remarkably intimate, and he doesn’t want to intrude, except—

Stiles is singing now. The microphone is off, but his clear tenor still echoes throughout the room, and— it’s a love song. Derek freezes, listening to the plaintive longing in the melody— he’s never heard Stiles’ voice like this, all yearning and desire, soul being poured into the words in a way he’s never heard him put in any of the other songs he’s sung. There’s a heat to the chords accompanying it, a heavy tempest, and it makes Derek want so badly, and he can’t help but feel jealous and disheartened that Stiles is in love with someone and is composing them beautiful music. 

Derek grabs his wallet with a heavy heart and leaves silently, the chords of the song still echoing in his head.

The “surprise” birthday party the next day goes as well as expected; Derek is asked to come in for an early shift by Scott, and then the lights flicker on and everyone yells “Surprise!” 

Erica gives him a thumbs up of approval for his surprised face, and Derek is actually kind of pleased that everyone wants to celebrate with him. Scott’s got his heart in the right place. 

There are presents too, which are nice and make Derek laugh, but he feels like there’s something going on that he doesn’t know about, Scott and Stiles keep sharing these looks. 

Stiles plays “Happy Birthday” on the piano, voice jaunty and merry, and it’s sweet and friendly and Derek closes his eyes when Stiles intones, “Happy birthday, dear Derek,” all breathily, focusing on remembering this one moment, this one song that’s for him. 

The party winds down, and the staff prepares to open up for the evening dinner rush, people bustling to and fro. Derek’s wheeling in a keg of beer when he sees something unusual in the dumpster behind the restaurant; there’s a bunch of looseleaf paper scattered all over the organics pile. 

Derek grumbles, rolling up his shirt sleeves to move it to the correct bin, and then pauses, looking at what he’s holding in his hands.

Music. 

Sheet after sheet of handwritten notes in Stiles’ handwriting, and the words— the words he was singing last night— that hauntingly beautiful love song—

At the top of the page, centered neatly is just the word “Derek.” 

Every single page. 

Derek is holding what he thinks are fifteen different songs, marveling at them all, heart pounding, when the back door opens and Stiles walks out of it, holding a thick sheath of paper. 

Stiles freezes when he sees Derek standing over the dumpster holding the discarded music. 

"I, um," Stiles says. "Hi." 

"You— you wrote these for me," Derek says in awe. 

"Yeah, yeah I did," Stiles says sheepishly. "I know we’re only friends and you probably don’t want to—" 

Derek’s grip tightens on the papers, like they’re something precious. “I’ve been in love with you since you walked up to the bar and demanded the most ridiculous drink in existence,” he says. “I always thought you wouldn’t ever think of me that way because you’ve never dedicated a song to me before.” 

Stiles laughs, looking up through his eyelashes. “Derek, I’ve been writing songs about you since the day we met.” 

There's a long moment where they look at each other and the dirty alley fades away. All Derek can see are Stiles' bright eyes, and Stiles reaches out for him, hesitantly taking his hand, warm slender fingers curling around his own. Derek's throat goes a little dry as Stiles steps closer, leaning in—

The door behind them opens. "Hey, there you are," Scott says, already changed from his party clothes into his chef uniform. "Erica is waiting for you to bring the keg in, Derek," he says, and then blinks from Stiles to Derek, who are still holding hands. "Wow, I'm sorry, did I interrupt—?" 

Stiles huffs. "Scott! I can't believe this! We were totally going to have a moment," he says crossly, and Scott just sheepishly shrugs in apology and ducks back inside, closing the door. 

Derek squeezes Stiles' hand. "It's okay," he says. "Maybe our first kiss shouldn't be by the dumpsters."

Stiles looks around, like he's noticing where they are for the first time and then blushes, looking back at Derek's lips. 

"Here." Derek hands Stiles back all the sheets of music he's holding. "Don't throw these away, I want to hear all of them," he says. 

"Okay," Stiles says, biting his lip and clutching all the music to his chest. He looks so adorable that Derek just wants to step forward and kiss him, and is thrilled about the possibility that he can do that now—

The door opens again and Isaac's curly head pops out. "Hey, you guys need to be in uniform soon, dinner rush is gonna start." 

Derek takes a deep breath and nods.

Dinner seems to encompass an eternity, and Derek works through a haze of blissful content, filling drink orders and barely listening to the hustle and conversations rising and falling around him. Every so often Derek will look up from his bar to see Stiles looking back at him from the piano, and they'll share a dazed smile before returning to their task. 

Tonight's music seems especially sweet, and Stiles runs through the typical showtunes, with a few songs dedicated to a patron here and there, and one about Lydia's tiramisu. At about nine o'clock Derek is mixing his version of an Irish coffee when he hears a cough on the microphone across the room. He sets down the bottle of Bailey's on the counter and sees Stiles beaming at him. "This next song I never thought I'd actually get to play, and I'm kind of nervous about it. So, you guys know Derek, right?" A spotlight shines down on Derek, and he waves awkwardly at the crowd, who start cheering and applauding. "This one's for you." 

The song starts out slow, Stiles' fingers waltzing across the keys, playing soft chords. There's a heat to it, an intensity building, and Derek recognizes the song as the one he overheard Stiles playing last night, that beautiful, aching love song, but when Stiles starts singing Derek forgets completely about the room. There's none of the longing and pain in the song, even though the main melody is the same—and once again Derek is awed by Stiles' talent because he's completely remade the song just by changing the key.

It's gorgeous. It's happy. It makes Derek's heart swell up with joy and he can't stop smiling. "And I love you, I'll love you forever," Stiles croons to the microphone, catching Derek's eye, and Derek mouths back, "I love you too." 

As soon as the last patron leaves, Derek hops over the bar and strides straight for the piano. All the staff are still around, cleaning up, but he doesn't care. The melody from that song is still ringing in his ears, and Stiles stands up from the piano bench just as Derek vaults himself onto the stage without even bothering with the stairs. 

"Derek—" Stiles starts, just as Derek grabs him by the suspenders, the straps digging into his palm as he pulls him close—

Stiles' lips feels like a dream, and Derek can feel the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as they kiss. Arms fling around Derek's neck, dragging him eagerly, and Stiles deepens the kiss, letting Derek press him up against the polished surface of the piano until they're startled by the dissonant sound of Stiles' butt smashing against the keys. 

Stiles laughs, and Derek can't help but join in, feeling giddy and drunk even though he hadn't had a drop of alcohol. He sweeps up Stiles in his arms, kissing him again, not getting enough of the sweet taste of him. 

"Hi, hi, hello," Stiles says brightly when they finally break for air. 

"Hello," Derek says, and it feels like the beginning of something beautiful.