Chapter Text
Stiles heaved a sigh and rolled over onto his back.
Wanna come over?
Three little words in a little blue bubble on his phone. Three words that made no sense. None of this made any sense really, because people who looked like “howler24”, people who looked like that; well they never even responded when Stiles would message them. So the fact that howler had been the one to send the first message, and then continued to message Stiles for the past few days was already blowing his mind. He must be fake, Stiles assured himself. It was the only explanation. Howler wasn’t really the 6’1 dark haired muscular adonis with those eyes that his profile would have him believe. Because god divides, no one gets to be that attractive and also be smart and funny. So clearly the pictures he’d sent Stiles to prove his identity had been doctored. This was an elaborate ruse and this guy is really just some troll. He’s probably being catfished. Shit, he’d always made fun of those people and now…
So his hesitation to answer is clearly justified.
You still there???
“Ugh fuck! Alright! I’ll do it!” Stiles shouted to no one.
Yeah, I’m here. I’ll come. Just.. tell me one more time that you’re not a serial killer. Also, I’m not really looking for a hook up.
I know, I’m not either, just would love some company. Also, I’m not a serial killer
That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.
…?
What, I’m just saying.
You’re ridiculous.
I’m also right.
omg, are you coming or not?!?!
YES! yes, I’m coming, sorry.
Cool, how long do you think, I need to shower, cover my floor in the style section and sharpen my axe. Do you like Huey Lewis and the News?
FUCK YOU stop! First of all, I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Second of all if you really do kill me I already told my best friend where you live. He's big and scary and has claws. Lastly, you really have to stop liking everything I like.
Umm okay... so 20 minutes then. I promise try and hate everything you like.
Good you do that.
Stiles sat for a moment, staring at his phone, grinning like an idiot. Even if howler turned out to look nothing like his pictures (which seems impossible with the number of pictures he’d sent but you never know) Stiles decided he didn't care. This guy was hilarious, and smart, and just got him, and frankly Stiles needed a friend if nothing else.
Coming to New York had been a rash decision. How he was able to justify coming to New York to be a writer, he’s still not sure. He could have been writing at home in Beacon Hills at his rent free, bill free, board included fathers house. But no, he needed to experience things. Away from home things. So he packed his life up and moved to the most expensive, chaotic, filthy, terrifying, beautiful city in the freaking world. He really did love it here, but he’s felt like more of an observer since he’d arrived. He’s not really made any lasting friendships, though he’s met some really fascinating people. Grindr was a last resort. The assumption is that everyone that goes on grindr is either looking for a hook up, or… well that’s it really, they just want sex. Even the guys who say they are just looking for new friends to chat with have pictures of themselves half naked on their profiles, and will usually send a picture of themselves fully naked within a few messages. Or, the worst, the dreaded smart, interesting, funny, attractive guy in a long term open-relationship.. like why are you even on here!
Stiles paused lacing up his shoes realizing something.
Hey, what’s your name?
I’m Derek… I feel like I should have told you that before asking you to come over. I’m an asshole. What’s your name.
It’s fine. I’m Stiles.
Hi Stiles :). Can’t wait to meet you for real.
;)
Stiles arrived at Dereks apartment a few minutes before the time they’d agreed on. They lived closer than he thought. Like they were basically neighbors. So that just made this all the more nerve wracking. What if they hated each other. What if Stiles makes an idiot of himself. How embarrassing when he runs into him every day at Starbucks, or on the train.
He’s pacing now, muttering under his breath, he probably looks insane. He walked back down to the elevators at the end of the hall and sat on the floor for a minute, looking over his messages, convincing himself that this was a good idea. That this guy was more than likely pretty normal and probably liked him at least a little and definitely, definitely was not a serial killer.
“Get it together Stilinski” he shakes out his limbs, stalks back up to Dereks door, and knocks.
“Oh my god, you’re real.” Stiles opened with. His heart apparently had been in his throat, and seeing him finally, he just couldn’t help the word vomit.
“Umm, yes?”
“I’m sorry. Hi. Wow, you’re-” Stiles couldn’t finish, he was just staring openly, mouth hanging open, because fuck wow. How was he even better looking in person.
“Would you like to come in?”
“I- yeah, yes, thank you.”
Walking through the threshold, Stiles took in the small apartment. There wasn't much in the way of furniture, not in a minimalist sense, it was more of a “I live alone so I only need the one chair and the one table and the one plate, bowl, and fork” kind of decor. Despite the minimal furniture, the place was clearly lived in, but it was also clear that Derek didn't spend much time here. Homey, yet still clean. It was kind of embarrassing for Stiles actually, there was no amount of cleaning up that could have made Stiles’ tiny studio seem even remotely presentable. He’d long since given up trying. It’s not like anyone came to visit him anyway. His place was more of a closet with a bed and a toilet, and that served him just fine thank you very much.
“So..” Derek seemed nervous, “Wanna, watch a movie or something.”
Stiles realized he’d just been standing there, staring at the apartment, trying to imagine Derek life from the small glimpses of it he saw around the place. The pile of books in the window sill, the fruit on the counter in the kitchen that was going a little rotten, the quilt over the back of the sofa that looked older than anything in the whole place.
“Sure” Stiles responded with a small grin. The usual quick pace of their conversations was clearly being dulled. It probably had something to do with the fact that Derek's shorts were really, really short, and Stiles was having a bit of a hard time focusing on anything but the flex of his thighs as he awkwardly shifted in place.
“I have American Psycho?”
“Ha!” that got Stiles’ attention, “Really? I thought we were still trying to prove you’re not going to kill me”
“I mean, I’m obviously not Patrick Bateman, but I could be crazy.”
“Well yeah, so could I.”
“Right, well I’m not. A serial killer that is. Or a psychopath in any sense.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see, where’s the movie?”
“Right”
And they settled down on Derek’s slightly too small couch. Stiles leaned forward, really trying to seem like he was paying attention to the movie (they ended up watching Avengers because Derek likes Marvel too omg!). He wasn’t paying attention of course. How could he when he could feel the heat from Derek's body next to him, he could sense Derek's eyes boring a hole into the back of his skull.
So he sits there, eyes unfocused, gnawing on his bottom lip. He’s sweating and trying so hard not to fidget, but his leg literally won’t fucking stop moving. He’s a mess basically, and Derek is surely just waiting for a polite moment to ask this weirdo to leave.
At some point he gave up on trying to pretend-watch the movie and turned to look back at Derek. It should have been weird or awkward, just looking at each other, sitting just a little too far away. Derek didn’t look like he was annoyed with Stiles at all. There was a small smile playing on his lips, like he wasn’t even aware of it.
“You’re so fucking cute.” Derek says, and then quickly looks surprised like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Stiles can’t help but kiss him then. Just a quick dry press of lips that’s over too soon.
“You too.” Stiles says as he turns back to the movie to hide the fierce blush that’s surely creeping up his face. Derek turns back to the movie too, this time slinging a (not so) casual arm over the back of the sofa, across Stiles shoulders.
After eventually managing to pay some attention to the movie (you can’t not watch the huge Battle of New York sequence), Stiles was going to get up and head home. He’s still not sure what this is. Is it a date? They both said no hook ups (although little Stiles has been silently begging for him to reconsider). So he’s not really sure what the rules are here. What do you even do when the movie is over. He’d barely inched up from his slouch against Derek’s side, when Derek just slid closer to him, tightened his arm that hadn’t moved from around his shoulders since he put it there, and put on the news.
Okay, well I guess I’m not leaving yet.
“You thirsty?” Derek asked after a few minutes listening to the anchor tell them about all the horrible shit that happened that day.
“No, I’m fine.” Then, after a pause, “ Am I staying here tonight?”
“Yup.” Derek replied, popping the p at the end, and not looking away from the television. Stiles couldn’t help but grin. He was clearly just posturing, putting up a cocky front, but Stiles could tell how nervous he was. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he sees the way the hand he doesn’t have draped over Stiles back is fisting the edge of the couch cushion in a white knuckled grip, how the hair at his nape is slightly damp from perspiration, and when he scoots a little closer he can hear the rabbit quick beat of his heart. Still, Stiles apparently has a thing for false bravado.
“Alright, no need to be an asshole about it.” Stiles replies with a smirk.
He feels Derek's sigh of relief.
Eventually, Derek nodded off a bit and apparently he is a cuddle monster. At some point during The Tonight Show, he decided that Stiles was going to be his pillow and literally manhandled him to lay flat on his back so Derek could lay his head on Stiles’ stomach. After which of course he said, “We should go to the bed” and then promptly passed out.
Stiles couldn’t help but run his fingers through his hair as he slowly fell asleep too.