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Scott has a dilemma. The Basic Rules of Being a Best Bro dictate that there is no bro left behind, bros before ho— hot girls of French descent with amazing dimples who are super smart and independent and who imply that they wouldn’t mind if you invited them out for milkshakes on Valentine’s Day, and that when your best bro is lonely and sad (no matter how much he tries to hide it), you drop everything to make him feel better. The Basic Rules kind of contradict each other, though, because they also say that you don’t stand in the way of another bro’s true happiness, and Scott is about 99.9% sure that his true happiness consists of getting to second base with Allison Argent in the back seat of his mom’s new (slightly less dorky) car and finding out what colour of underwear she likes wearing.
Scott is easily pleased. A lot of people have pointed it out, and he’s going to take it as a compliment.
It sucks, because he prides himself on being a good friend. He always remembers important dates and shows up with junk food and a new Xbox game if it’s a bad one. He makes sure to tell Stiles if someone is checking him out, and he didn’t even make a deal of it when Stiles told him back in middle school that he might also be into guys (Scott had sort of suspected that much anyway, since Stiles kept insisting they go sit near the taco stand in the food court where Camden Lahey worked and they could have a perfect view of the employees, and the only female working there was at least 50 and had a snaggle tooth. Scott didn’t really mind - he loves tacos). But the ultimate sacrifice he has made in the name of Brodom is letting Derek I-Take-Krav-Maga-Lessons Hale throw him around like a rag doll.
So Derek is providing a public service. Scott is aware of this. It’s actually pretty cool that Derek came back to school after a summer eating spinach and lifting small trains or whatever to become a guardian angel to the easy targets of BHHS. Ever since he’d taken over as leader of the Bully Beaters - and Scott is aware how lame the name is, everybody was, until Derek started wearing a sash with the name to school and glaring at anyone who dared comment - the place had become a sort of bully-free utopia where everyone was super nice to one another and helped with their books and a bunch of girls started swooning when Derek stalked by in his leather jacket and super manly sash and button. He’d spent the first month skulking around like Batman; breaking up fights, calling people out and exposing them for derogatory slurs, and being generally imposing until assholes stopped behaving like assholes, and it had all been surprisingly effective.
And Stiles had had a hard-on for Derek since before all of that. Scott’s vocabulary has literally improved from listening to all the ways Stiles describes Derek Hale’s eyes.
Then Derek had to go and acknowledge Stiles’ existence (and why wouldn’t he - Scott has no problem sharing that Stiles is a regulation hottie), pulling Scott off him when Stiles was the one being an asshole, ‘stirring the pot’ while singing Melissa brings all the boys to the yard, and from then on, it had given him ideas.
Derek Hale separately issued Scott two oral warnings about anti-social behaviour before he believed that he and Stiles are actually friends. Now the Scott-please-hit-me fake-out wasn’t working anymore (and Derek had seemed irrationally outraged at someone hurting Stiles anyway) and Stiles had had to bitchface through the BullyBeaters Kissing Booth fundraiser and refused to even line up.
Scott sometimes wonders how someone so smart could completely miss the hopeful looks Derek kept throwing down the queue, and the way his whole body slumped when he noticed Stiles off to one side complaining loudly about how kissing booths are a form of socially acceptable solicitation and he won’t be a part of it (which is bullshit because Scott knows for a fact that Stiles was the one to anonymously suggest it in the first place - he just hadn’t counted on his own lack of balls or the 90-minute waiting time to kiss Derek Hale).
But all that didn’t really help Scott’s current situation, which was Stiles shoving his books into his locker and loudly complaining about how Valentine’s Day was a social construct to make single people feel bad about not conforming to idealised norms. Scott knows the speech pretty much off by heart by now, because Stiles has recited it every year since eighth grade like the angry loner in some high school drama, but what’s new is Stiles’ words cutting off mid-sentence when he pulls a baby-blue envelope out of his locker.
"Dude— did you?" he asks, turning the envelope over, and Scott shakes his head, inputting his own combination.
"No, man. I know how much you hate Valentine’s Day," he smirks, dipping behind the locker door to reach the stash of extra lucky pens he keeps in the back. "Maybe it’s from your secret admirer." He leans back to wiggle his eyebrows just as Stiles scoffs and splutters and begins tearing at the envelope.
Stiles’ eyes scan over the interior of the generic, love-heart covered card for a long moment. Something in Scott starts to ache when he sees the curiosity on his best friend’s face morph into elation and then complete confusion. It’s full-on dejection, when an envelope flutters off the door of his own locker, and Stiles says, “So, everyone got one, then.”
Scott’s about to ask, but Stiles is already screwing up the paper in his hands, muttering muted curses and slamming his locker shut - so he curiously reads what’s inside his own card.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
For anyone without a Valentine this year, we hope your day is filled with contentment and friendship. We’re always here if you need us.
Love, protection and tolerance,
Derek & The BullyBeaters
It makes a shitty sort of sense that the expression Stiles is wearing is one of a guy who has his hopes built up only to be dashed in one fell swoop.
"Well, it’s nice that they made sure nobody got left out, right?" he says positively, but Stiles is just shouldering his bag in silence. He makes his voice soft. "Hey, just because Derek—"
Stiles’ bitter laugh cuts off any more comforting words. “I’m done holding out hope for something miraculous happening with me and Derek Hale, don’t worry,” he snorts, hands agitatedly playing with the strap of his backpack. “Look man, I have a Bio test next period and I’m gonna get in some last minute cramming. See you after school?”
Scott nods, biting back the urge to make it better, because Stiles is in one of his stubbornly-depressed moods and nothing will bring him out of it until he’s ready. Maybe Allison will understand if he wants to take a rain-check. A first date on Valentine’s Day is a little on-the-nose anyway, right?
Scott lets out a sigh.
It’s when he’s zipping up his own bag that he notices the card Stiles screwed up has begun to unfurl on the floor - but what catches his eye is a loop of cursive on the front, and he stoops to pick it up.
"Funny how it’s the same shade of blue as that shitty jeep," a voice says from behind him, and he flinches slightly before he turns to see Erica Reyes, chewing bubblegum that matches her lipgloss, blonde hair pinned up with a bandana the same green-blue as the BullyBeaters button on her leather jacket. She arches a brow and nods to the paper. "Almost like it was intentional."
"It’s handwritten," Scott observes, frowning at the outside of the card, because his own wasn’t. "And there’s two waltzing stormtroopers drawn on the back of the envelope. Stiles loves Star Wars.”
Erica hums, like she’s waiting for something, and Scott knows instantly what it is when he opens it up, and reads the inscription.
Stiles,
Hope you feel as utterly loved and cherished as you deserve to be this Valentine’s Day.
-Derek
+ the bullybeaters
It’s how personal it seems that stands out, and the part after Derek’s name, hastily scribbled in and posted through the locker vent so quickly the ink is smudged on the opposite side, looks like an afterthought. The phone number that he suspects is Derek Hale’s personal one, does not.
"This wasn’t a generic card from you guys," Scott muses aloud, and Erica holds out her hands innocently.
Suddenly a lot of possibilities are coming to Scott’s mind, like that maybe Allison wears purple lingerie and maybe Stiles doesn’t have to be alone this year after all.
"But that would mean— "
"That Big Scary Derek Hale is a chicken-shit?" she asks, popping her gum. "Yep."
___
Stiles shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and kicks at a stray straw wrapper. He isn’t sure what masochistic part of Scott drove him to suggest that they meet for pink milkshakes at the diner on Valentine’s of all nights, where it’s filled with disgusting couples being all close and shit, but he’s at the stage where anything beats sitting in listening to angsty music and feeling sorry for himself.
He’s still waiting outside, obviously- his stomach can only take so much.
It kind of feels awfully like being stood-up, though, because Scott is officially fifteen minutes late and he’s debating whether to book it or not when a screech of rubber pulls into the parking lot and sweet mother of all that is sexy, Derek Hale hops out of his Camaro with a panicked look on his face.
He’s in sweatpants and a backwards cap and Stiles thinks he might be hallucinating a little, because the guy is walking straight towards him.
"Are you alright? I got your text, and—" he looks around. "What happened?"
Stiles thinks his tongue might have stopped working because Derek’s hands are on his shoulders and his skin is still wet from the shower and his hair is still dripping into his shirt, but he still manages to get out, “what text?”
Derek stops looking around to focus on him, licking his lips as he steps back out of Stiles’ space. “Uh.. well it said to come here ASAP, and I didn’t recognise the number, so…”
Stiles frowns. “So you assumed I’d text you? Wh— but you gave out your number to basically everyone who got one of your little cards today.” It still stings a little, that moment of getting his hopes up before he realised how stupid he was being. This is the longest conversation he’s had with Derek in his entire life, for fuck sake. Why would he ever send him a Valentine’s card?
"Not everyone," Derek mumbles, and it must be a reflection of the stupid heart-shaped fairy-lights in the window because it almost looks like his ears are turning pink.
"What do you mean?" Stiles asks, his heart starting to rabbit up without his permission. Derek couldn’t possibly be saying—
"Just you," he says to Stiles’ shoulder. "I…uh… the card was supposed to be from me… to you."
"But it said from you and the—"
"I wimped out."
"Oh."
"Yeah, so…"
There’s something tingling beneath Stiles’ skin. He thinks it’s like when he accidentally doubles up on his Adderall or eats too much sugar, but nothing in his life has been as sweet or stomach-churning as the sight of Derek Hale admitting he like-likes him.
"So…" Stiles smirks, "I’m your Valentine?"
Derek rolls his eyes. “I guess. If it’s not too much trouble. I did save you from getting your ass kicked once or twice.”
"Pfft, like Scott could take me."
Derek raises a brow. “I threatened to have him held back.”
"He told me. Do you even have that kind of pull?"
A shrug. “I’d have tried.”
Stiles fakes a swoon. “My hero.”
"Not you, too."
"I’m totally okay with you having a fan club."
Derek looks down. “Only really cared about what one person thought,” he says to their shoes.
"Yeah?" Stiles asks, just to be a shit, "even when you were macking on a bunch of strangers in the name of charity?"
Derek bites his lip, looking up imploringly. “Especially then.”
Stiles laces his fingers with the ones nervously twitching by Derek’s side, feeling warm and buzzed and about fifty other cliches he’s heard in happy pop songs - songs that are starting to make sense for the first time, and says, “Well, maybe you can buy me a milkshake, and I’ll think about wearing your Letterman jacket.”
Derek smiles back, letting it crack into a beam, and goads, “Hey, I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I only wear leather.”
"Alright, so you’re a different kind of fifties cliché. We can go park at the overlook later if you like - switch our phones off, create a mood.”
He’s still smiling lecherously, about to get to the counter and order when Derek stills, begrudging smile turning into a frown, and says, “Wait, if you didn’t text me, who did?”
Stiles turns around, about to speculate, when two brunet heads dip behind a menu in a corner booth, looking very familiar and shifty in the bright diner. He waits a second, counting to five, and then Scott’s eyes peek over the top of the laminate, squinted and mischievous. He lowers the card, realising he’s busted, and gives a sheepish wave.
He’s sharing a milkshake with Allison Argent, their feet intertwined beneath the table, and looks like the cat who got the cream. The fucker.
Stiles clenches his jaw, jerking his head in their direction, and says to Derek. “Oh, I think I’ve got a pretty solid idea who it was.” He levels a glare at Scott. “You," he hisses.
"Sorry I couldn’t make it to the man-date, bro," Scott says, not sounding sorry at all, while Allison laughs into his shoulder.
"I’m sure you are. Hey, Allison, date thief."
She shrugs. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had plans…”
Scott pulls a face. “Don’t apologise to him. He’s a lousy kisser anyway.”
Stiles bares his teeth at him, not missing the snort Derek muffles, and Stiles turns back to his own ‘date’. “Hey, dark and broody, wanna give him a show?”
Before Derek can give his retort, Stiles is hauling him in by his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips. He has no idea where this bravery is coming from - whether it’s relief or Valentine’s day or Derek, but he breathes easier when Derek responds after a second, soft, like the first kiss that it is; like he’s nervous and eager and trying so hard to make it good. Stiles feels tingles all the way to his toes that this is the same guy half the school is terrified of. That Stiles might get to keep him and know him and be around him all the time.
His head goes a little light, his body waking up with sparks and jolts, and it’s not even cold water over them both when Scott yells, “Ew! Gross! What have I done?” and Stiles flips him off behind Derek’s back.