Archive of Our Own ^beta

Along with the fact that Kate Argent was a total bitch, it was also a school-wide fact that Stiles Stilinski was a bit of an asshole. But he was also extremely comfortable with who he was, so much so that he even came out as bi just a year earlier, not caring what the consequences could be. He was stubborn and talked back. He took shit from no one and even argued with his teachers. Word on the street was that his latest stunt involved him smashing his bike into Finstock's car after failing his econ test. At 16 years old, he was a force to be reckoned with. And to Kate Argent, he was perfect.

She waited in the hallway, leaning up against her locker as the wall clock ticked noisily above her. Ideally, lingering around school wasn't how she wanted to spend her free time on a Thursday afternoon. But this would be worth it. If Stilinski ever got out of detention, that is.

When Stiles did finally stumble out into the hallway, he nearly passed right by her. His long legs threatened to trip over air as he picked up his pace and tried to flatten his permanent state of bedhead.

Funny, she didn't know he wore glasses.

"Hey, four-eyes," Kate called out, watching Stiles trip again as he stopped a few feet away. He frowned, looking over his shoulder, then back at her.

She made glasses out of her fingers and held them up to her eyes.

Reaching up to his own face, Stiles snorted once feeling the frames still perched on his nose. "Whoops, those aren't mine, what are they doing on my face..." he muttered while shoving them into his bag. He looked back up at her and lifted a warning finger, "Tell anyone and die." It was a halfhearted threat, but Kate humored him by miming a zipper across her lips.

"So I hear you smashed your bike into Finstock's car the other day," She commented, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "I'm impressed."

Stiles studied her carefully. His eyes narrowed at her before he smiled wryly. "And I hear you hire people to do your dirty work. The hell do you want, Argent?"

Kate's grin turned predatory as she took a few steps closer. Stilinski was a no-nonsense, get-straight-to-the-point kind of guy. She appreciated that. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she leaned in close enough to press up against him. Only he didn't seem to appreciate that and glared at her hand until she moved it.

Taking a step back, Kate cleared her throat and got on with it.

"What do you know about the Hale brothers?"

It clearly wasn't the conversation starter Stiles had been expecting, if the way his head jerked back in surprise was anything to go by. He made a face and looked to the side as he went through his mental library.

"Uh... I know Scott, who's an actual puppy and stupidly loyal. He's actually a really cool guy. Sporty and shit. And, like, all girls cream themselves at the sight of him, except he's not allowed to date, which is a shame, 'cause I mean, he'd be pretty busy. I heard this one story about --"

"So you don't know anything about the older brother?"

Stiles closed his mouth. He thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I've heard all about him and his prickly personality. And that he's apparently just as hot as Scott, if not more so. Which, I have to admit, is pretty impressive. I'm almost disappointed in myself for not trying to see who this guy is. Anyone that attractive deserves to get appreciated by me. Except I don't exactly know who I'm looking for, so I could pass him every day and not know it."

Kate smiled again, ignoring his consistent rambling. "Here's the thing, I need you to date him."

Stiles went quiet. His eyes squinted while the rest of his face distorted in confusion. "I missed the part where I expressed interest in dating this guy I've never met."

"Consider this a business deal," Kate began, watching as Stiles rummaged through his bag and pulled out a chocolate peanut butter cup.

"Their mom came up with a new rule and said that Scott could date only if Derek did. Scott's in love with my little sister and Allison is just as crazy about him. The only thing standing in their way is Derek, who refuses to date. He's a bit prickly and one look from him will have your balls retreating into your body, which is why no one's willing to actually get to know him."

"He rejected you, didn't he?" Stiles smirked before popping a chocolate into his mouth.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Please, I can do better than Derek Hale any day. It will just be a few dates so that Allison and Scott can go enjoy themselves, too. I'll even pay you."

This seemed to catch Stiles' attention. His doe-like wide eyes always had a look of curiosity to them, but now they were looking intrigued. Kate tried to refrain from victory dancing. He hadn't agreed to anything just yet.

He swallowed his chocolate and finally asked, "What's in it for you? No offence, but everyone knows you don't exactly do things out of the goodness of your heart."

"Allison means everything to me," Kate replied, shrugging. "She's been pining for Scott for ages and he likes her too. Derek's the only problem here. And since everyone's scared of him, it just makes sense that you'd be the best choice for him."

Stiles wasn't convinced.

"Uhhuh, and how would I be the best choice?"

He disinterestedly started unwrapping another peanut butter cup.

If Kate wasn't so determined to get him to agree, she might have just blown a fuse from impatience. This was one of the best ideas she'd had, yet he was scoffing at it like he could have come up with something better in his sleep.

"You don't take crap from people, everyone knows that," she said through gritted teeth. She tried not to glare at the little smirk on Stiles' face. "And you two are like . . . surprisingly well-matched. He's all rough and tough and uses his evil eyes to make people do stuff, whereas you would make a sarcastic comment and throw him off his game. I think it'd be entertaining, in the least."

Stiles finally looked back up at her, tossing the candy bar wrapper into his backpack.

He stared her down, his gaze unwavering even as she began to shift.

"How much?" He asked, once Kate had almost reached her limit.

The question caught her temporarily off-guard.

"What?"

"I'm tired of riding my shitty bike to school, but that means I'll have to pay for a new transmission for my jeep. How much for each date?"

Oh, she had him now. In an instant, Kate was back in action. She had regained her composure, as well as the upper-hand.

"Fifty. And I expect a full report after each one."

Stiles smirked. "Oh, I'll give you a full report, alright," he mumbled. He moved his bag further up his shoulder and tapped his fingers against his jeans, staring off into the distance again.

" . . . I'll think about it."

He gave her another suspicious look before walking away, leaving Kate to her own satisfaction.

Smiling down at the floor, Kate leaned back against her locker and exhaled happily, not letting herself lose hope. The plan was finally set into motion.

-----

"So that's Derek Hale," Stiles hummed from behind his massive binoculars. He altered the zoom and gave an appreciative noise at the up-close-and-personal view of Hale's backside.

It turned out the rumors of Derek Hale being a total babe were true. Tall, dark hair, stubble -- god, that alone was enough to make Stiles' knees weak. He also happened to be the captain of the lacrosse team. Which was sort of perfect for Stiles since his best friend's boyfriend was on the lacrosse team.

"I can't believe you've never seen him around before," Erica commented from beside him. Speaking of best friends . . . Erica claimed she had to come along with Stiles on his quest because he was a 'hopeless fool who'd snap his neck trying to climb the bleachers' -- her words, not his. But Stiles figured it was just so she could ogle Boyd without him knowing.

She and Boyd were kind of perfect for each other. He was tall, dark, and handsome -- and almost more terrifying than Derek Hale. But then he had a thing for petite blonds who had a streak of tyrant in them. Ergo, a match made in hell.

"Well, excuse me for valuing my life and not wanting to get too close to supernaturally-beautiful seniors who could rip my throat out," Stiles murmured distractedly as he watched Hale's muscles bulge as he whipped the ball into the net. Instead of celebrating the goal, he turned and ripped off his helmet to yell at a shorter team member.

Stiles really couldn't help the little upturned twitch of his lips as he watched Derek tear into the guy. And if Stiles felt a thrill of arousal rush through him, no one had to know.

Setting his binoculars aside, Stiles shimmied off his seat and tried to get a better angle to view Derek's face. He ended up lying almost upside down on the seat below him with Finstock making eye contact with him just as he was reaching for his binoculars again.

Laughing nervously, Stiles waved at coach and pulled himself back up onto his seat. He pushed the binoculars out of sight.

"Oh, did you hear I crashed my bike into Finstock's car after I failed one of his tests?"

Erica snorted around the straw of her smoothie. "Like that's believable. If you were damaging anyone's car on purpose, it'd be Harris'."

Stiles flailed his agreement. Erica frowned and pushed his arm away from her face.

"I know!" he cried. "What is up with the rumor mill these days? Finstock's not bad enough that I'd do anything to his car. In fact, I think he's one of the better teachers here, dare I say it."

Of course it was that moment Finstock pulled the short kid away from Hale and gave him his own verbal beating. Erica and Stiles watched as the kid, whose jersey said 'Greenberg', dejectedly walked to the sidelines to start his suicides as punishment.

"Well . . . at least I don't think he's too bad. . . . Except when he actually gets on my nerves. Then I can hardly stand to hear his whiny voice. But, still, smashing his window on purpose? No."

Once the practice resumed, Stiles plucked his binoculars back up and leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar in front of him. He snorted as Jackson Whittemore got tripped and flew to the ground. The rest of the team hardly noticed and charged on. Sports had never been Stiles' thing. Sure, he was good at running and cross country, but he'd choose movie marathons over actual marathons any day. "God, how long do these things last? I think I'm getting a sunburn." He rubbed the back of his neck to emphasize his point. "Not a good day to wear jeans."

"You hate Kate Argent," Erica suddenly voiced. "Why would you agree to do anything for her?"

Stiles shrugged. "She's just . . . such a bitch. I thought it'd be funny to take her money and fuck around. Claim that Derek and I were quickly falling in love and shit. But then, like . . ." he lowered his binoculars and studied the field. Finally he turned to Erica and threw his hand up to gesture to the players.

"But look at him! He's gorgeous, talented, smart... and yet he hates everyone. Why? What makes him and Scott so different? Why is Scott the lovable, I-want-to-adopt-all-the-orphans-in-the-world and Derek's the human grumpy cat? These are the questions I ask myself before I fall asleep," he finished dramatically. He quickly turned back to the game.

Erica rolled her eyes. "You didn't even know he existed until, like, three days ago."

"That's beside the point," Stiles murmured. He had already become engrossed in the play again.

"Just... be careful, okay?"

Turning back to her, Stiles ruffled Erica's hair. She smacked his arm. He shoved her almost off her seat.

It was once she had grabbed onto his pinky finger and squeezed did Stiles finally yell 'mercy'.

He rubbed his tender finger and sighed. "I will be. Just... could you make sure I stop myself before doing anything too stupid?"

"Stiles, I can't be with you 24/7. That's a lot of stupidity to prevent."

"Bitch," Stiles laughed.

The sharp screech of the whistle blowing had Stiles' stomach in anxious knots. His heart thumped loudly against his rib-cage as he turned his wide-eyed gaze to the field.

"I heard he sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers. Imagine what he'd do to skinny ol' me. Shit, Erica, if I die, make sure my dad eats his greens."

"Sure thing."

He wasn't very convinced, but stood up anyway. Time to make his move.

He kept his eyes on Derek while making his way down the stands. Derek had just removed his helmet and grabbed for his water bottle, dunking a fair bit onto his head.

It was enough to have Stiles slip on one of the steps and go barreling down the rest of the way.

He grabbed the railing on the last step just before face-planting into the ground. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," he whispered to himself, risking a glance at Erica. He didn't know if he had ever seen her so unimpressed. She slowly raised a thumb up at him. He flipped her the bird.

Making sure his heart wasn't going to fail him anytime soon, Stiles breathed deeply before schooling his features and waltzing up to Derek.

"Hey, good-looking, what's cooking?"

Derek looked up from where he was crouched on the ground and -- holy beautiful eyes, batman. Light eyes with dark hair was a killer combination.

"What."

Stiles almost forgot how to speak. He wasn't expecting an actual response. A friendly beating, maybe, but a human response? No.

"Uhh.. I said 'hey'," he repeated dumbly.

"I heard you."

Derek straightened up to his full height, and although he was only about an inch taller than Stiles, he had a powerful stance. And really broad, muscular shoulders. And the way he held himself was really intimidating. So much so that Stiles almost threw in the towel. Except he didn't 'cause he was a little shit and was too awkward for his own good.

"So I heard this rumor that boyfriends or girlfriends of the lacrosse players get to see the games for free if they show up wearing their significant other's team jacket."

Derek frowned. Funny, Stiles thought he had already been frowning before.

"I didn't hear about that."

"Can I wear your jacket anyway?" Stiles smiled cheekily, tucking his hands into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

He watched Derek's eyes glaze over as he tried to figure out what just happened. Sure, Stiles didn't exactly know how to flirt. But he didn't think he was being too cryptic, either.

Stiles winked and ahh, there was that grumpy face again. Derek reached down and grabbed his water bottle before brushing past Stiles to head to the locker room with a firm, "No" in response.

Exhaling a longing sigh, Stiles watched his retreating back disappear through the locker room door. Such beauty.

Boyd chose that opportunity to walk past and shoot him a questioning look. Stiles just waved him off weakly, trusting Erica to explain it all to him later.

Well, if Derek had agreed that easily to a date, Stiles would have been suspicious as fuck. On the plus side, Derek didn't seem to be weirded out by a guy hitting on him. So technically, all was not lost. As if Stiles ever gave up that easily, anyway. Mark his words, Derek would agree to at least one date with him.

------------------

It was the next day in econ when Stiles leaned across the aisle to get Erica's advice. "How the hell do I get him to agree to just one date?" He whispered.

Erica pretended to be too focused on whatever Finstock was droning on about.

Stiles tossed an eraser at her arm. She leaned over and smacked his chest.

Stiles let out a wounded noise as he rubbed at his injury.

Every other person in the class was either sleeping or texting. This would have been the perfect time to have this discussion if Erica wasn't in one of her moods.

She wrote down a couple things in her notebook and Stiles sighed.

"You're taking notes? He never says anything interesting!"

Lifting up her notebook, Erica showed Stiles the collection of violent cartoon deaths she had drawn. So, not taking notes, then. Among the violent deaths was a name that had been colored in a few times in order to stand out from everything else.

Scott.

Erica seemed to read the confusion on his face. She sighed and turned to face him, no longer keeping up pretenses of listening to Finstock. "Yeah, it's impossible to talk to Derek 'cause he's a grade above us. Scott, however, is our age. Don't you have PE with him?"

"And bio," Stiles agreed, his eyes widening in excitement. "Wait, won't that be a bit weird for me to tell him that I'm crushing on his brother? Scott's a loyal guy, he probably hates everyone who tries to get with his brother. You know, the whole 'no one is good enough' thing most siblings do."

"Stiles, if Derek dates someone, that means Scott gets to finally take out Allison," Erica pointed out. "I think he's past the point of caring by now. You declaring your love for Derek would be Scott's dream come true. I think it'd be worth taking the chance."

Stiles blew Erica a grateful kiss. "Marry me."

"No way, you hog the covers."

If anyone noticed that Stiles was smiling for the rest of the class, humming 'If I Was a Rich Man' under his breath, no one said anything about it.

By the time the last class of the day rolled around, Stiles was almost buzzing out of his skin. He hadn't been this excited for biology in ages. Especially not when the slime ball Harris was the one teaching it.

But nonetheless, Stiles walked into the room with a skip in his step.

Scott sat at the back. From his own seat in the middle, Stiles took note of that for next time. Sitting so far away from each other meant no conversations would be taking place just yet. But Stiles was feeling optimistic today and didn't let that get him down. In the meantime, he settled for he taking mental notes on things like how Scott seemed to use this class as a napping period. He got called on at least twice by Harris to pay attention. Which meant he might not have been doing too well, grades-wise. Stiles could fix that. He was second best in his class (just a smidge behind Lydia Martin, which he loved and hated her for). If Stiles offered to help Scott get his grades up before exams next month, they could truly form a pretty good friendship. Hopefully. Maybe. If Scott was able to tolerate him, that is.

It was counted as a success when class ended and Harris had only bitched Stiles out once. So what if he had another detention this week? Detention was worth it when he got to see Harris' face rapidly change colors once realizing Stiles was drawing a penis on the board instead of writing a list of examples of reproductive isolating mechanisms.

Stiles was still snorting to himself as the class quickly filtered out of the classroom. He kept one eye trained on the desk at the back, where Scott hadn't bothered to make a move to leave yet. Instead his eyes were trained on his phone, a dopey smile on his face.

Well, Stiles thought, there was no time like the present.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and took exaggerated, long strides over to Scott. Who still didn't notice him.

"Hot date?" Stiles asked with a smirk, leaning his ass against the desk in front of Scott.

Scott looked up, puppy-dog eyes wide as his smile got even dopier. "Nah, she's just... she's something."

"What's her name?"

"It's Allison Argent," Scott sighed. "She's amazing. She has this smile . . . and her laugh. And her hair."

Wow. Those adjectives were almost as vague as a teen love song.

Stiles didn't think he'd ever heard a guy their age talk like that before. It was stupidly endearing how besotted Scott was.

"Why don't you just ask her out, dude?"

Scott gave him a look that was probably an attempt to be unimpressed. Stiles couldn't tell 'cause Scott was still half-smiling. On the plus side, Stiles could now kind of see the resemblance between he and Derek.

"Haven't you heard? I'm not allowed to date 'til my brother does," Scott muttered, finally beginning to pack up his stuff.

Stiles shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I hardly listen to gossip nowadays. My frail heart wouldn't be able to take it if I heard another rumor about me," he said dramatically, clutching at his chest.

Scott snorted and stood up, throwing his backpack onto his shoulder. "Yeah, man, didn't you smash coach's car?"

Stiles followed him out of the room and nodded somberly. "I did indeed."

He didn't think it was possible for Scott to look even more excited, but he somehow managed it. "Dude, well done! Finstock can be a dick sometimes. I mean... he's a good enough coach but, man, he can get on my nerves."

"I totally get it," Stiles agreed. He shifted his glance to the side to watch Scott, wondering if he'd take the bait. "Compared to Harris, though, he's a saint."

Throwing his head back with a groan, Scott nodded animatedly, "Yes!"

Bait: snatched.

"If I don't ace the exam, I'm going to fail the class," Scott mourned. "If I fail, I'm going to get kicked off the team for not having a C average, and I'm going to have to take the class again next semester. Do you realize how bad it is to have Harris once in a year? Having him twice is going to be Hell and I'm going to cry myself to sleep every single night."

Stiles was back to having a really hard time figuring out how this dramatic puppy was related to Derek.

He patted Scott's back sympathetically as they reached his locker. Scott yanked the door open and shoved his bag inside. Stiles watched as he tried to protect himself from the scraps of garbage that were sliding down to hit him in the face. Humming, Stiles tore his eyes away from the sight and pretended to be deep in thought.

"You know . . . I'm pretty good at biology. If you wanted, I could, like, tutor you or something a couple days a week. It'd look good on my college apps, right? So really, it's all for my benefit and I'm actually a selfish bastard."

Scott had turned away from the mess of overflowing papers and old lunches to look at Stiles, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I mean, colleges are always looking for leadership skills and shit, aren't they? Tutoring someone would definitely get my foot in the d-"

"No, I mean, you'll actually want to tutor me?"

Stiles' mouth quirked up. He planted his hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezed. "You know what, Scottie boy? There's no one else I'd rather help."

--

The amount of homework Stiles had for a Monday almost made him whimper. English was cake. Bio was just as easy, so was pre-Calc. It was just the number of hours he would be wasting. Instead of finishing up his Netflix marathon or beating Ocarina of Time again, he'd be slaving away at his desk. Teenage life was hard. He contemplated what would be the appropriate phrase to mentally hashtag, when suddenly his skull was being rudely introduced to the harsh metal of his locker door.

Boy, did that bring him back to junior high. Except now he had a reputation to keep up.

He whirled around on his attacker -- Kate Argent, how fucking surprising. Grabbing the front of her shirt, Stiles dragged her closer so they were practically nose-to-nose.

"Don't you ever fucking touch me again," he seethed. Gritting his teeth so hard it ached, he gave her a little shove to draw the attention away from how he was suddenly having difficulty breathing. He was glad no one could hear his heart hammering against his rib cage. The last thing he wanted was for his fellow students to remember how easily they tossed him around in junior high.

Stiles hadn't had a panic attack in years and he wanted to keep it that way.

"When are you going to take Derek on a fucking date, Stilinski?" Kate demanded. Her eyes were blazing. "How hard is it to get him to go to a movie with you, or even a study session? Was I wrong in thinking you would be able to do it?"

Breathing harshly through his nose, Stiles ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't for lack of trying. Derek just needed to be wooed a bit.

"I'm on it, okay? I've got a plan and I'm so close, you have no idea."

"If you don't prove yourself by next week, I'm calling it off and I'm getting someone else," Kate warned. She pulled a sweet smile on him and patted his cheek. "Got it, cutie?"

Stiles waited for her to walk a few feet before speaking up. "I've just added a new rule." He smirked at the daggers she shot with her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I want my money in advance," Stiles shrugged casually. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped over to her. He mimicked her previous smile and patted her cheek. "Got it?"

Kate was seething. Anyone could see that and Stiles tried not to enjoy it too much.

She pursed her lips shut, visibly grinding her teeth together. She finally huffed and flipped her hair. "It'll be in your locker tomorrow morning."

She didn't give him enough time to say anything more before she high-heeled her way out of there.

Nothing was more enjoyable than watching that woman leave the vicinity, Stiles realized. He rubbed his sore cheekbone and glared at his locker door. Why couldn't he have been pushed into something else? He bruised like a peach.

Dropping his bag over his shoulder, Stiles gave one last look at the spot Kate had just vacated. He shook his head with a slight smile, pulling out his phone to text Erica while meandering over to the library.

'Day one of 'tutor Scott to get him to help Derek fall in love with me.' TSTGHTHDFILWM for short'.

Stiles basked in the glory that was the library atmosphere as he pushed open the doors. Hardly anyone was there after school. Everyone was always in a rush to get as far away from the school grounds as they could, leaving the library a deserted wasteland. It was wonderful. That meant the computers were unattended and up for grabs, and that Stiles could line up a few chairs to lie down on without getting weird looks from anyone. Except, even when there were people around to give him looks, he did it anyway.

He had just chosen a corner table when Erica texted him back.

'That isn't a very shortened version. Come up with something better.'

Though she couldn't see him, Stiles glared.

'Bitch.'

Her reply was nearly instant.

'That's better.'

Before he could text back, the library doors were opening and Scott was rushing in. He seemed to be mumbling under his breath.

As he got closer, Stiles could finally make out what he was saying.

"Stupid guy isn't even human. That stupid... stupid, stupid,"

"Rough day?" Stiles interrupted with raised eyebrows and a grin.

Scott sent him a withering smile. He dropped his bags onto the table and huffed as he dropped into the seat across from Stiles.

"Don't you just love brothers?"

"I'm an only child, so..."

"Let me tell you about them," Scott proposed.

Stiles leaned forward. He folded his arms on the table and looked on in amusement.

"They're selfish. They adore to smother you with that whole 'tough love' crap. Except it really doesn't feel like love. It just feels tough and painful. And they say that everything they do is to protect you. But then they're just selfish! And they don't even care about your feelings! And they've always been the ideal older brother who's sporty and gets the attention of every single person ever, but they don't even CARE."

Waiting a moment, Stiles arched a brow once making sure Scott was done.

"Tough luck, buddy. You talking about Derek?"

Scott glared. Which was really quite adorable. He huffed a few things under his breath while flipping open his biology textbook.

"Yeah. You know him?"

Stiles pursed his lips to contain his smile.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Scott peered up from under his shaggy hair. He did not look happy.

"Exactly. Everyone knows him. And he's a dick. But no one sees that. Except they must see it at least a little 'cause no one tries that hard to date him. They just ask him once and he shoots them down so they give up instantly."

Stiles snorted. "I think it's perfectly obvious that he's a dick. But maybe that's what makes him so appealing. Girls want someone who won't smother them all the time, someone who's aloof and a bit indifferent but deep down they're a closet softie. They just get disappointed when he shoots them down and they quickly realize he's not all that soft deep down."

"He won't date anyone, Stiles." Scott propped his elbows on the table and dragged his hands down his face. "NOBODY. I won't ever get a girlfriend, let alone Allison. I'll be forty years old and still waiting for Shithead to date so that I can."

Stiles could no longer contain the laugh that bubbled out of him.

"I'm sorry, really, I am," he offered weakly.

"Yeaaah, yeah," Scott mumbled.

Now to put his plan to action. Except Stiles had never been one who was good at casually switching topics. At least, he wasn't good at making it discreet.

"So, this whole meiosis, mitosis crap--"

"What is Derek into, exactly?" Stiles asked at the same time. Shit. Scott had just brought up science and was now looking at him and they should at least do a little bit of bio before bringing up Derek again. Except now it was too late and Stiles' eyes were comically wide as Scott stared him down.

"Just...out of curiosity," Stiles waved a hand in the air, hoping for casual. The eyebrow slowly inching up Scott's face told him missed 'casual' by about 17 miles. Oh, crap.

Scott leaned forward so his whole upper body was flat on the table. And Stiles was suddenly very uncomfortable and inched his chair backwards.

It took a few beats of silence for Scott to finally find what he was looking for. He was beaming like the fucking sun all of a sudden and Stiles nearly got mental whiplash from the dramatic change in attitude.

"You like him."

Stiles squawked.

"Wha-- why do you-"

"You totally do."

So apparently Scott was only completely oblivious when it came to the things that mattered. Little things, on the other hand, like who was crushing on his brother, he was an expert at noticing.

"Shit, I didn't-" Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, smiling through his cringe, "I didn't want you to find out."

"Dude, why not? It's cool."

"Is it, actually? Wouldn't it be awkward since he's your brother, and all?"

Scott shrugged. "I mean, if you ever did manage to land a date with him, I might give you the whole 'protective brother' talk, but it seems like it's completely impossible to get him to come out of his shell." He frowned suddenly. ". . . I thought for sure that he was dating someone last year, though."

This piqued Stiles' interest. He ducked his head down to speak in private when a few younger students joined them in the library. They instantly congregated to the computers but he wanted to guarantee this conversation remained between the two of them.

"Yeah, dude, you know Kate? Allison's sister?"

Stiles was now very interested.

"Yeah, I know her."

"Well, I always saw them together. Until one day they wouldn't even look at each other. Derek never mentioned anything. In fact, I was pretty sure he had already come out as gay at that point. But, I mean, that did nothing to stop girls from flocking all over him."

So Derek was gay. Well, that certainly made things a lot less complicated. At least now Stiles didn't have to worry about grossing him out by trying to woo him.

"He was dating Kate even though he was gay?" Stiles clarified. His confusion was without a doubt written all over his face. Scott's expression mirrored his.

"Yeah . . . it doesn't make sense to me, either. I mean, they might not have been. But, like, they were always together. Never hugging or showing affection, but together enough that it was noticeable to me."

Leaning back in his chair, Stiles hummed thoughtfully. He tried to sift through that information while staring out the window. So was Kate viciously dumped and trying to get back at Derek by . . . what? Hiring Stiles to date him? How would that be heart-shattering? Unless Kate had a secretly good heart and just wanted Derek to be happy. Stiles actually snorted out loud at that thought. There was no way Kate Argent had good intentions with anything she did.

"So, like... you really like him?" Scott asked excitedly.

Stiles tried to look embarrassed.

"Let's just say my first attempt to woo him didn't go over too well and I've been trying to run into him again to give it another attempt."

"You're trying again?" Scott sounded like he couldn't believe Stiles had the balls. "You're that serious? Dude, everyone always just gives it a half-assed attempt and forgets about him and moves on to the next. I think you'd be the only guy to try again."

Now Stiles was blushing for real. He was a persistent little shit, what could he say.

Apparently it was possible for Scott to get even more excited over his latest discovery, as he suddenly started bouncing in his chair. His grin was blinding and his eyes were wide with excitement. "Duuuuude!"

"Whaaaat?"

"If you got him to date you, I'd be able to go out with Allison!" And there he went with the heart eyes again.

"Yeah, key word: if," Stiles sighed.

That temporarily shattered Scott's bubble and Stiles almost felt bad about it. But he needed Scott to keep following his plan and actually make Things happen. Capital 'T'.

Scott hummed thoughtfully, looking to his bio textbook for help.

Stiles tapped his pencil against his paper while watching Scott out of the corner of his eye. Flipping to the page they were going to start working on, Stiles accepted the fact that they weren't going to carry on planning this operation.

"Okay, so, meiosis is when a cell division occurs and produces four daughter cells, each with half the number of chromosomes of the parent cell. Mitosis --"

"So all you're really struggling with is how to talk to him and like...what he likes?" Scott clarified.

Stiles was torn between feeling insulted that Scott had ignored him, and feeling elated that the plan was still on.

"Yeah, basically," Stiles nodded. He shrugged one shoulder and doodled a couple tornadoes on his paper.

"Well... he likes sleeping. And running, and dark chocolate chips -- I don't know why, that's just always his go-to cheat food."

Well, those facts weren't all that helpful. Stiles squirreled them away for later anyway, just in case. Who knows, he might have to resort to sending Derek bouquets of dark chocolate chips.

"Oh! I know how you can run into him!"

Stiles jumped at Scott's outburst.

"He's going to this 'Colleges and Careers' night thing this Wednesday. Mom has to work and I'm not interested, so he'll be going alone. If you went, you'd probably be able to catch a moment to talk to him. Or at least, like . . . pretend to knock him over, then make it up to him with a coffee. Or something. I don't know. But that's a thing!"

Smiling at Scott's over-excitement, Stiles stared down at his paper.

"That is most definitely a thing."

Colleges and Careers night, here he comes.

---

The sheriff wasn't a stupid man. He once solved a case with nothing but a rubber band and a pack of matches (long story). So when his 16 year old son announced over dinner that he was going to a seminar about colleges, the sheriff was suspicious. Understandably so.

He watched Stiles push his mashed potatoes around on his plate in silence. Avoiding eye-contact was a tell-tale sign with Stiles. Heck, everything was a tell-tale sign with him when it came to lying. The kid couldn't lie worth shit.

"Colleges and Careers night . . ." the sheriff repeated monotonously.

Stiles nodded amicably, happily shoveling potatoes into his mouth. "Yup." He made sure to pop the 'p' in hopes of showing his dad just how normal this was. When met with silence, Stiles finally looked at his dad and said defensively, "I could be interested in my future!"

"Except you're not."

Stiles gaped, trying to find a clever retort.

"Dad! I'm 16 -- 17 in 3 months. And I'm graduating next year. It's about time I think about colleges and sh- crap."

The sheriff finally ate the peas that had been sitting on his fork since Stiles first mentioned this whole thing. A few beats passed and Stiles almost thought he was home free. Almost. Except he knew his dad too well.

"Okay, but--"

"Oh, here we go," Stiles groaned.

"Hey, no attitude," Sheriff warned, holding his fork out toward Stiles in a threatening manner. "I'm allowed to ask questions. My house, my rules. As long as you're under my roof . . . you get the idea."

"Yeeeeees," Stiles groaned again.

"Who would you be going with?"

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. "Myself."

Sheriff raised a brow. "You're not taking Erica?"

"Nah, she's got a thing with Boyd tonight. Plus she's not considering college at this point," Stiles took a huge bite of potatoes just to be obnoxious. "Said she'll become a stripper once she's legal."

Sheriff sighed. "Stiles, don't talk with your mouth full. And I really didn't need to know that about Erica."

Stiles threw his hands in the air, a slab of potato flinging from his fork that the sheriff narrowly dodged.

"You asked!" He garbled through his mouthful.

Sheriff continued to frown a bit more before pushing a few pieces of chicken around on his plate. "You'll be going alone to a seminar on colleges. Stiles, which part of that sentence doesn't sound right to you? Both parts."

"I'm encouraging my independence to grow," Stiles grunted through his chicken.

The Sheriff paused for a minute, watching Stiles carefully. "When is it?"

"Like . . . half an hour."

"And it's at your school?"

"Auditorium," Stiles nodded.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the sheriff's face went through different emotions. Stiles personally didn't think he was such an untrustworthy guy, but he also didn't blame his dad for not believing him. Ever since mom died, Stiles had changed from the happy-go-lucky ADHD kid to the trouble-making ADHD kid. He'd never actually break the law, though. Messing around at school was just a bit of fun. And a way to protect himself. Before his mom died, it wasn't uncommon for him to be pushed into lockers daily or have his things shoved into toilets. Gotta love Jackson fucking Whittemore. But then mom passed and Stiles had had enough of being the weakling.

He had even gone as far as to let his hair grow out a bit -- just enough to be able to run his hands through it. Believe it or not, to Stiles, that was the most drastic part of his change. He had been shaving his head for 14 years. Having hair was definitely a new sensation but on the plus side it made him look less baby-faced. Along with the newly-found hairdo came the contacts. Stiles' glasses were reserved only for drastic measures.

Finally, the sheriff exhaled a long, loud sigh, and Stiles knew he had won.

"First off, I'll be driving you. Secondly, you'll text me a picture of the auditorium -- which I expect to be full of professional speakers with fancy name tags," the sheriff warned. "Send the picture to me as evidence, and I won't change the Netflix password."

Stiles winced.

"You drive a hard bargain," he broke into a goofy smile and saluted his dad. "But I accept your terms and conditions."

Sighing, the sheriff rolled his eyes down at his potatoes.

"What have I done?"

"You've helped your miscreant son find spiritual enlightenment through colleges and talks about the future. All hope is not lost for this one, oh no pop, I will be cured from my--"

"Eat your dinner."

"Too dramatic for you?" Stiles grinned.

"A bit."

But Stiles saw his dad's lips twitch up into a barely-there smile, and that was enough for him.

By the time the dishes were washed and put away, Stiles only had about 3 minutes to get to the seminar before it started. Finding the first hoodie he could, he tugged it on over his head with one hand while pulling his shoes on with the other.

From his seat in the squad car, the sheriff just watched on in an amused silence as Stiles tripped out the door, narrowly avoiding breaking his nose on the front porch railing.

"I'm okay!" Stiles yelled before jumping down the steps and climbing into the passenger seat.

Man, he missed his jeep. The poor baby was too old but he vowed to himself that he would get a new transmission by senior year. He would no longer have to ride his bike or bum rides off of everyone.

The sheriff slowed to a stop in front of the high school, genuinely surprised to see people congregated in the lobby. There was even a little stand outside the doors that welcomed all parents and students.

Before Stiles could jump out of the car, the sheriff placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Son, did you want me to go in with you?"

Now it was Stiles' turn to be surprised. He had never even thought the sheriff would want to join him.

"Uh . . . I-- . . . sure, if you want to. . ?"

It turned out the sheriff did want to. He quickly found a parking space and hopped out of the car with Stiles, the two of them hurrying up the stairs of the school. The lobby was already quickly emptying into the auditorium. The Stilinskis shimmied in behind the crowd -- which contained more people from other schools than it did from Stiles' own.

Stiles stood on his tip-toes to get a good look around the auditorium in hopes of spotting Derek. He quickly accepted it was nearly impossible with half the people still standing. He dragged his dad to a couple seats at the very back. At least that way he'd be able to keep an eye out for Derek as the speakers came and went.

There were a lot of parents there, Stiles realized. More than students, at least. But Stiles didn't blame them. What student wanted to waste his Wednesday night hearing about colleges?

"I could be watching Netflix right now," Stiles whispered to his dad.

They were only on their third speaker and had about 3,000 more to go.

The sheriff crossed his arms and leaned sideways in his seat. "I thought you wanted to go to this thing."

Stiles' eyes were still trying to latch onto Derek.

"I did, but then I just remembered I haven't finished this one documentary yet. I fell asleep halfway through last night."

The sheriff hummed noncommittally, so Stiles elaborated.

"It's about this guy who sets out to see if penis size really does matter," he ignored the look from his dad and continued on without a care in the world, "because he proposed to his girlfriend and got rejected. She said it was 'cause his penis was too small."

"Stop saying 'penis', we're surrounded by your peers."

"Skin pickle? Tally-wacker? One-eyed monster?"

Stiles laughed as the sheriff reached over and covered his mouth.

Of course, now Stiles finally found Derek. Sitting only a few seats away and one row up. And Derek was looking back at him, too.

Stiles flushed a dark shade of red and pried his dad's hand off his mouth. Derek disinterestedly looked away and back to the speaker, leaving Stiles to burn in humiliation on his own.

He just hoped Derek hadn't heard his penis synonyms. Especially out of context.

Eh, Stiles told himself he wasn't too worried. He knew he'd be laughing it off in an hour or so.

The rest of the night went off without any more interruptions, really. Stiles made a snide comment every now and then, and the sheriff scolded him every time. But by the time the speaker for Berkeley stepped out, Stiles knew both he and his dad were enjoying this a bit too much.

But then the Berkeley speaker had to go and be perfect. He talked in an enticing manner that even had Stiles shutting up for the whole 20 minutes. He spoke about the campus, the student life, and, most of all, the courses. Their Folklore courses, their Cognitive Science courses, their Comparative Biochemistry courses. Stiles could have climaxed right there.

He was surprised when the 20 minutes had already ended and the seminar was over. He wanted Berkeley man to come back.

"Dad, I'm going to Berkeley," Stiles whispered, awestruck. He remained seated and staring wide-eyed at the stage while everyone else began to filter out of the auditorium.

The sheriff chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Sounds good to me, son."

Stiles broke from his trance and whipped around to look for Derek. Once finding him, Stiles lunged from his seat and caught up to the walking leather jacket before anybody else could take the opportunity away from him.

"Derek! Hey! What--" Stiles raised a finger to tell Derek to wait while he bent over and tried to regain his breath. Derek arched a brow, but waited, nonetheless.

"What did you think?" Stiles finally asked, straightening up and smoothing out his hoodie. Oh, god, he looked like a slob. Derek was wearing tight-fitting jeans and a leather jacket while Stiles was there in his sneakers and hoodie. Kill him now. There was no way he'd get a date looking like that.

After a too-long moment of silence and some intense staring, Derek finally shrugged. He had apparently accepted his fate as Stiles' conversation victim.

"USC sounded decent. Their physical therapy and occupational therapy programs rank really well in the whole country, so we'll see."

"Ooo, so you're wanting to go into Kinesiology?"

"Possibly. It's what my mom wants me to do."

"Riiight! Your mom's a nurse, isn't she?" As soon as he said it, Stiles realized that might have come out sounding weirder than it should have. "My dad's the sheriff, so Melissa's always patching him up," he quickly amended, hoping that made him sound less like a stalker.

Derek nodded once, "Right."

"Well, that'd be cool. I think you're smart enough for it. Plus you have a passion for fitness and shit," Stiles offered. He could totally do the one-sided conversation thing. He was a master at that. If Derek thought he could scare him off by not talking, he had another thing coming to him. "Dude, but Berkeley, though. That sounded fantastic. Especially with the whole course on Yiddish. Like, can you imagine going off to college for a few years and you come back speaking Yiddish? Ai papi. But I'm more interested in all their science courses. And medieval shit. And everything. Oh my god, I never thought I'd actually be this interested in college."

If Stiles was one to over-analyze (which he was) he'd say Derek almost looked on the verge of smiling. It's okay, Stiles' enthusiasm tended to do that to people.

"Berkeley does have a pretty good Aerospace Studies program," Derek allowed quietly. At least, quietly in comparison to Stiles' honking.

Stiles' eyes widened. "You're interested in the air force? Dude! I could totally see you in uniform," he trailed off and didn't realize he was giving Derek a once-over until he got back up to Derek's face and he had a look that, for once, wasn't his constipated scowl. Now Stiles' next step was to de-code Derek's expressions.

"Son, half my backside is asleep," the sheriff greeted, landing a heavy hand on Stiles' shoulder. He noticed Derek there and nodded at him.

"Mr. Hale."

"Sheriff."

"Your mom working tonight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm proud of you for coming tonight on your own. It's admirable for you to be invested in your future," the sheriff complimented.

Derek made that face again. Stiles' mouth threatened to drop open once realizing that expression was his embarrassed look. Or flustered, at least. Shit, his comment on Derek in a uniform made him flustered. Too good.

"Thank you, sheriff. She wanted to come but a coworker had her baby a couple days ago. Mom stepped in so the woman could spend some time at home."

The sheriff smiled, shaking his head down at the floor. "Your mom's got a heart of gold." He turned back to Stiles, jostling him a bit. "Now, weren't you in a hurry to get home? Desperate to watch that movie with the big penises or something?" He then walked away as if he hadn't just ruined his son's life.

Stiles' cheeks were bright red, he could feel them.

The laugh he forced out sounded more like a wheeze. "I just-- he's -- so funny . It's a documentary on penis size and -- oh my god I'm just digging a deeper hole for myself." He hid behind his hands for a second to regain his composure.

Derek was pursing his lips together to keep from smiling. So that was a thing, at least. Not that Stiles paid much attention to it, being too engrossed in climbing his way out of the hole.

"It's a documentary this guy made who wanted to settle the question, once and for all, if size truly matters. 'Cause his girlfriend dumped him for having a small one," he said weakly, still blushing. He pointed over his shoulder in the direction his dad had gone to fetch the car. "I'm just gonna go," he squeaked before spinning around and walking as calmly as he could to the car.

His dad was still laughing against the steering wheel when Stiles slammed the door shut.

"You did that on purpose!"

"Oh, son, you could have just told me there was a guy you liked instead of making me sit through almost 3 hours of boring speakers you weren't even interested in," the sheriff chuckled, starting the engine.

"Oh my god! That was your revenge!? You horrible man!" Stiles bitched.

They were halfway home when Stiles added, "And no one ever said anything about me liking Derek Hale!"

------

It was another boiling day and the lacrosse team was hard at work. Finstock's screaming could probably be heard from Stiles' house, he thought to himself. Lounging back against the bench behind him, Stiles let his head drop back, squinting his eyes closed against the harsh sunlight with Finstock's nasally voice disturbing the peace.

"He's got something shoved up his ass today," Erica commented from his side. This time she hadn't brought anything with her to do. Which meant if the lacrosse team wasn't doing its job, then Stiles was the one in charge of entertaining her.

"Or maybe it's the lack of something up his ass that's got him cranky," Stiles hummed.

"Stiles, I don't need to imagine Finstock in any kind of compromising position."

Stiles squinted one eye open to smile at her. Sitting up straight, he reached down into his bag and dug around for the sunscreen. He expertly avoided Erica's judging gaze as he smoothed the lotion onto his nose.

"Now, we can't all get perfect tans like you," he uttered, thoroughly rubbing it into his arms. "I'll be cremated if we're going to stay for the whole practice."

He didn't have to look to know Erica was smirking at him.

"Of course we're staying the whole practice. Maybe if we're lucky, the team will get so hot and sweaty they'll take off their shirts."

Derek was handsome enough with his clothes on. The thought of him shirtless had Stiles making a noise in the back of his throat he wasn't too proud of.

Erica obviously found the whole thing entertaining.

"So, how was the college speaker thing?" She asked. She looked toward the field once noticing the players getting back into formation. Taking the hair elastic from her wrist, she tied her long curls back into a bun, as if preparing herself for an intense round 2 of practice.

Stiles groaned, finished lathering sunscreen onto the tops of his ears, and tossed the bottle back into his bag. "Don't ask," he warned.

Erica snorted. "What'd you do?"

One of these days, he was going to get better friends. Mark his words.

"It wasn't me!" Stiles defended. Erica shot him a look of disbelief.

"It wasn't! My dad just mortified me, which, you know, no big deal or anything. But I still managed to talk to him. And it wasn't disastrous. So I think I'm making progress."

"You like Hale?"

Stiles absolutely did not squeak and jump away from Lydia Martin when she presented herself out of thin air behind them.

Oh, goody, Allison Argent was with her. She dimpled at him and he just kept staring at her.

Allison was the polar opposite of Kate. Sure, they had the same determination when they set their minds to something, but Allison was an actual Disney princess, whereas Kate was Cruella DeVil or Maleficent. She was the villain in any and all situations, with no redeeming qualities.

"What's it to you?" Uh oh, Erica was bringing out her protective mother bear voice. Which was weird, considering Lydia Martin had never really talked to them before, so they had no reason to dislike her. Well, except that she was dating Jackson fucking Whittemore so there had to be something terribly wrong with her.

Lydia smirked at Erica's attitude and gracefully plopped down on the other side of Stiles. Allison joined them on Lydia's side.

"Well, I just happened to have heard this rumor--"

"Again with the rumors," Stiles sighed.

"This rumor," Lydia continued, shooting Stiles a pointed look, "that you were crushing on him. And that's kind of perfect for Allison, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah, apparently I'm just Scottie's life saver here. So you gonna help me, or what?" He meant it as a joke, but the glint in Lydia's eye told him she took that proposition seriously.

"I'm having a party next Friday. You get Derek there, then Scott will be able to take Allison," Lydia replied.

Stiles didn't need to look to know Erica's eyes had narrowed by this point.

"Why do you want to help?" It was pure talent how Erica was able to make a question into an accusation, Stiles mused.

"Don't worry, dear, you can come, too," Lydia smiled, her tone condescending.

Stiles threw his arm out to stop Erica from lunging from her seat. He turned to Lydia once more. "Actually, though. What do you want in return?"

This time, Allison spoke up.

"It was actually my idea . . ." she blushed prettily. God, she and Scott were either perfect for each other, or their relationship would never be able to progress because they'd be too busy blushing and just looking at each other.

"Lydia and Jackson had already planned the party but I wasn't going to go because going to parties alone is kind of depressing. We heard about you liking Derek, so we figured it was almost perfect for you guys. It's not an actual date, but you can also make some headway, meanwhile Scott and I can be together, too."

She was lighting up like a Christmas tree by the end of her speech.

Another difference between the Argent sisters was how Allison's intentions were pure. And she genuinely was putting an effort into making her situation with Scott work.

Stiles decided he liked her.

"So Lydia's just providing the venue here?" Stiles clarified, smirking at Lydia's indignant look.

"I'm also the only one willing to start a conversation with you," she returned.

"Not that we don't like you!" Allison cut in quickly. "You're just . . . kind of intimidating at first."

Stiles elbowed Erica when she snorted. He could be intimidating if he wanted to be, screw her.

He pretended to think for a moment before exhaling loudly. "I'll see if I can even get Derek to show up. That's the hardest part."

Lydia smiled.

"Perfect."

Stiles kind of figured after they had set up their little plan, Lydia and Allison would return to their own seats. It turned out the 4 of them were now best friends who sat together during lacrosse practice. He and Erica kept sending each other looks to make sure the other was feeling just as awkward.

Deciding there was nothing he could do about it, Stiles turned back to the practice just in time to see Scott slip and go flailing to the ground in a pile of limbs. Stiles laughed under his breath along with Erica while Allison gasped and inched closer to the edge of her seat.

But Scott bounced right back up and waved excitedly at them. Only Stiles and Allison waved back.

Stiles grinned as Scott caught himself from slipping again on his way across the field. What a bozo. Stiles could almost say Scott was nearly at Stiles' level of clumsy.

Derek caught a pass from Danny Mahealani and whipped it past Greenberg and into the net.

Stiles didn't realize he was the only one cheering until Derek looked over at him, as well as the rest of the team. Even Finstock looked over.

Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, Stiles cleared his throat and started picking at his shirt. Well, at least Derek now knew he was there.

He glanced up from under his lashes at the field, feeling a thrill rush through him once realizing Derek kept glancing over at him.

He inhaled a breath that shook with the power of his rapidly beating heart. Shiiit, he was losing his cool. The adrenaline of embarrassing himself so many freaking times in front of this guy was getting to him. Especially when he should have been acting all suave around him.

"Shiiiiiit," Stiles exhaled slowly. How could he possibly woo a guy like Derek Hale when all he did was embarrass himself?

"I need to take lessons on how to be less awkward," Stiles whined.

Erica slowly patted him on the back.

------

Letting Kate Argent know Stiles was going to try to get Derek to go to the party with him was a fun event. There was a bunch of glaring (on her part), a bunch of fucks not given (on Stiles' part) and finally, she agreed that she'd be able to wait until after the party to decide if she would go find someone else to date Derek or not.

But just the thought of someone else chasing after Derek made Stiles that much more motivated. He didn't know whether it was the money or his stubbornness that motivated him more. He settled for both reasons.

Nonetheless, he found himself back in the library with Scott, who was sporting a blinding grin as Stiles scanned over his homework and made no corrections.

"Dude, well done," Stiles smiled and shook his head. "This is great. It will definitely boost your grade a bit more before the exam."

And just like that, Scott's good mood was gone. And his puppy eyes came out along with his frown. "Don't even mention that thing, dude."

"Why not?" Stiles laughed. "You're going to do great. It's all just memorizing."

"Exactly. I play sports. Do you realize how many times my head gets hit in a day? I swear my memory has never been the same after joining lacrosse."

"Pretty sure you're just naturally clumsy," Stiles joked, which earned him a playful shove from Scott.

"Shut up, dude, you're not exactly a graceful ballerina yourself."

Stiles pretended to look affronted and held his hand up in front of him, a silent 'back off' to Scott.

"I am Swan Lake personified, don't even."

They fell into a comfortable silence after. Stiles was working on his application to get into advanced English for next semester while Scott wrote out definitions and doodled little pictures to help him remember how certain systems worked.

Scott glanced over at what Stiles was doing and smacked his arm, "Dude!"

"Ow!?"

Stiles rubbed his stinging arm as Scott excitedly barreled on.

"You're good at every subject, aren't you? 'Advanced English' . . . man, I'm friends with a genius," he gushed. Then he seemed to notice that he hit harder than he thought. "Oh, sorry, man, I'm used to pushing around team members and they're all built like tanks."

Stiles smiled sarcastically, "Yeah, yeah, next time keep your beatings to yourself. And are you saying I'm not a tank? Rude. See if I tutor you anymore."

It was almost impossible to glare at Scott when he had that cute little smile on. Jeez, what was with the Hales and their beautiful eyes and amazing genes. Even their mom Melissa had great eyes. They actually came in good use when she was dealing with disobedient patients. Whip out those eyes and those patients smartened up instantly.

Scott's phone lit up with a text message and Stiles lunged across the table to get to it before Scott could. Except Scott lunged at the same time and they both flew to the floor, limbs tangling as they crashed down.

"Scott, no texting allowed!" Stiles strained, reaching towards the phone. Scott lay half on top of Stiles, his leg being held down.

"It's Allison!"

"I KNOW. You need to focus on your studies, you numb nut."

Stiles pulled on Scott's pinky finger. Scott bit his ear and got swotted on the leg because of it.

"It could be important!"

"She's probably letting you know there was a cloud in the sky that looked like you."

"She could be dying."

"She's not dying, Scott. I am the one dying right now, how much do you weigh? Holy god."

A throat cleared from somewhere in the heavens and Stiles accepted he had died from asphyxiation.

"This is the end. God, is that you?"

"Never got that nickname before," a voice that was most decidedly Derek Hale and not God said.

Stiles didn't even pretend that he wasn't hiding when he smothered his face into the floor and tightened his hold on Scott's leg as protection.

"What are you doing here, Derek?" Scott asked suspiciously. He was still reaching his arm out towards the phone, batting Stiles' hand away as he did the same.

"It's time to go home. Either you come with me now or you walk home later," Derek replied easily. He stood there in all his glorious, leathered appearance with his hands casually in his pockets, staring down at the two fools on the floor.

"Kill me now," Stiles murmured into Scott's shin. He whipped his head around and glared angrily at Derek. "How come you always find me in the most embarrassing situations? How am I supposed to woo you like this, Derek!?"

Yeah, that's right, now it was Derek's turn to look embarrassed.

"Stop saying shit like that, people can hear you." Derek shot a significant look over at the librarian's desk. "Especially Mrs. Franklin, who's looking 2 seconds away from killing you herself."

Franklin was a scary lady. Stiles let go of Scott's leg like it was on fire and jumped to his feet. Scott cried out triumphantly and snatched the phone up. Stiles pulled his shirt down from where it had ridden up and attempted to flatten his hair. His flushed face was a lost cause, though. Scott didn't even care how disheveled he looked. He was happily typing away at his phone.

"Asshole traitor," Stiles hissed.

"I wrote, like, half the definitions, dude!"

"You were supposed to write them all!"

Scott just waved him off, not bothering to tear his eyes off his phone.

Stiles shot Derek an exasperated look and threw his hands in the air.

"Fine, see if I care. I'll just tutor myself."

"I have to go home anyway, I wouldn't have been able to finish the definitions today, even if I wanted to," Scott pointed out. He suddenly whipped his head up, eyes wide as he lunged over to Stiles and grabbed his arms.

Stiles' own eyes widened in response, very aware of Derek watching them.

"Er . . . what?"

"You should totally come over!" Scott grinned.

The warm feeling that rushed through Stiles was one he hadn't felt in quite some time. Everyone usually avoided him in school, labeling him as a troublemaker or someone who wasn't to be trusted. And they had every reason to think that, in a way. Erica had been his only friend for a while now. Boyd was there for him on occasion, too, but to have someone like Scott actually wanting to pursue a friendship . . . Stiles almost felt like he didn't deserve it.

"Wha- uh . . ." he glanced over at Derek, who quickly looked away.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Are you kidding? It's a great idea," Scott nodded enthusiastically. "We can just hang out, play video games. And I promise we'll get some studying done, too."

They didn't get any studying done.

It only took a few more seconds of Scott staring him down with those big eyes and Stiles was agreeing to go home with them. At least this way he wouldn't have to either walk home or wait for his dad to come pick him up. Plus Derek. And Derek's Camaro. And witnessing Derek drive like an old man. It was all quite the experience and Stiles regretted nothing.

When they got to the Hale house, Derek disappeared back outside right away and Stiles and Scott each grabbed a controller and plopped onto the couch. They hadn't moved since.

The only thing capable of breaking Stiles' concentration and constant string of profanity was when Derek walked back into the house sweaty, panting, and in workout gear. The fact that he was topless was reason enough for Stiles' fingers to go limp on his controller as he watched, unashamed, as Derek paused in the entryway to toe off his shoes.

"Dude, you totally just stopped shooting!" Scott cried, watching as the words 'Game Over' flashed on the screen. "You left me high-and-dry."

Derek walked past Stiles' seat on the couch and smirked down at him on the way, fully aware of what he was doing.

"Shit-head," Stiles muttered. He felt his lips twitch up as he blatantly draped himself over the back of the couch to watch Derek jog up the stairs. "Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go."

He sighed at the now-empty staircase. What a work of art.

Sliding back down into his seat, he picked up his controller and only just realized Scott's scandalized look.

"What?"

"At least wait 'til I leave the room before you start reeking of sexual tension."

"Nonsense. It's that much more fun with you around."

Scott snorted and shook his head, standing up and tossing his controller onto the coffee table.

"Let's start on dinner. Loverboy will be down soon to help."

"Derek can cook?"

"He's just Mr. Perfect, isn't he?" Scott teased, shoving Stiles' shoulder lightly.

"It was just a question," Stiles laughed. "And you have no room to talk. You could go on about Allison's hairline for 3 hours and still have more to say."

"It is a nice hairline."

"God."

Scott stationed Stiles on one of the counters, setting out numerous vegetables to make a salad out of. Putting on some water to boil, Scott brought out the rice just as Derek entered the kitchen, freshly showered.

"You're on chicken," Scott instructed.

It was strangely domestic having the three of them work side-by-side in the kitchen. Plus watching manly-man Derek at home in the kitchen was always a nice sight. Even if he did zone out to the world and focus solely on the task at hand instead of communicate.

Meanwhile, Stiles and Scott were easily filling in the silence while multitasking.

". . . I'm just saying Toby Maguire's Spider-Man was embarrassing, yes, but it was better than the remake," Stiles affirmed. He moved past the carrots and started on chopping up the celery as Scott made a contemplating noise behind him.

"But Andrew Garfield was more accurate. Spider-Man is supposed to be a sarcastic little shit. Maguire just made him angsty."

"Point. But Garfield's version is more douchey. I mean, he was laughing and joking while people were getting crushed under cars and there was that one point where he was all 'Gwen, you're the only person I have left. You're all that matters to me, let's run away to England together'. Meanwhile there's poor Aunt May who's all alone and whose husband just died -- which, I will add, Peter could have prevented if he hadn't been acting like a tool. But no one cares about Aunt May. All they care about is the romantic story line."

"I like it," Scott smiled.

Stiles wasn't surprised. "Well, of course you do."

"The new one's closer to the comic books," Derek commented as he bent down to slide the chicken into the oven. He turned back around and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as he spoke to Stiles.

"Or are you one of those people who just watch the movies and then make your judgement based on what you see?"

Stiles whipped around, appalled that anyone would accuse him of such a thing. In the midst of his movement, the knife he'd been holding skimmed his hand and he hissed in pain, shaking it out.

"Of course I've read the comic books! How can you even think that I haven't?"

"Stiles."

"I also watched all the dorky cartoons that had way too many neon leotards, but when you're a superhero that doesn't matter."

"Stiles, your hand," Scott handed him a paper towel to hold over the blood that was slowly dribbling from the shallow cut.

Stiles glanced down and quickly looked away, feeling his stomach already start to churn.

"Oh, gross."

He was quick to hold the paper towel over top of it to cover the blood.

Derek released a long-suffering sigh, barely containing an eye-roll. "Scott, you cut the vegetables," he ordered, moving any and all sharp objects away from Stiles. "Stiles, watch the rice."

"Yes, honeybunch, whatever you say," Stiles answered, shimmying past Scott as they rotated.

Derek sighed again.

The room was once again silent, save for the occasional thumping of Scott's knife against the cutting board. And it turned out that rice-watching was only fun for the first 20 seconds. Sighing, Stiles shifted to his side so he could face the guys as he resumed talking.

"Hey, Scottie, did you hear about that party Lydia's throwing?"

Scott's head snapped up. "Yes! Should be good. We should go."

Stiles shrugged, glancing over at Derek. He was studiously looking down at his mixing bowl of salad dressing.

"I was thinking about it. Except you'd totally ditch me for Allison."

"Of course I wouldn't," Scott said sheepishly, except everyone knew that was a dirty lie.

"Riiiiight."

"I technically wouldn't be allowed to go, actually," Scott realized. Stiles could tell he was now depressed since his vegetable-cutting slowed down significantly. Right. In order for Scott to be able to go, Derek would also have to go.

Stiles took a deep breath and moseyed over to sidle up beside Derek, who tore his eyes away from the homemade salad dressing to shoot Stiles a suspicious glance.

"Do you want to go with me?" Stiles asked quietly. He looked up at him from under his eyelashes, trying to make it all romantic-ish.

Derek remained silent. His expression gave nothing away, though he did stop adding spices to the dressing. Stiles watched his blue-green eyes flicker across his face as if looking for something. Their eyes met again and Stiles felt all the air rush out of his lungs.

Scott, who was blissfully unaware of what was happening behind him, glanced over at stove. The pot of rice was bubbling over the sides, sizzling every time the water splattered against the burner.

"Uh . . . Stiles, the rice is exploding."

Derek was the first to look away. His gaze flickered to the rice over Stiles' shoulder while Stiles spun around and flailed his way over to the stove.

If he found he could breath easier now, he didn't mention anything. He also pointedly ignored the warmth in his cheeks. It was just from the rice's steam, okay?

----

Erica was picking at her burger with disdain when Stiles found her. She had chosen a lightly-shaded table outside, snatching it up at the beginning of lunch hour before anyone else dared to look at it.

"Wow, you braved the cafeteria food for a change?" Stiles raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Can you feel your life drastically changing with each bite?"

He pushed his macaroni around with his fork to mix the cheese in, less impressed with his own meal.

"Have you seen the mystery meat here? I can feel myself growing closer and closer to death with each bite," Erica replied.

The food their cafeteria had to offer wasn't that horrible, it just left a weird taste in your mouth and had a texture to it that had most people turning away after one bite. Stiles and Erica avoided the cafeteria like the plague. Whatever those burgers were made of created an interesting scent that clung to your nostrils in a death-like grip. Plus the cafeteria was always overcrowded and noisy.

Stiles tilted his head back and let the fresh breeze ruffle his hair. He was more than ready for the weekend. Just one more day and he'd be free to watch Friends re-runs and run around his house butt-naked. Except not when his dad was home. Then he'd have the decency to wear boxers. But still, that was more freeing than the skinny jeans he was currently in.

The sound of two other food trays dropping onto the table made Stiles re-open his eyes to see Lydia and Allison sit down across from them.

Now Stiles remembered the party tomorrow night.

"Dammit all," he muttered. "Going to a party means 1 less day of naked Stiles time."

Lydia made a face. Erica leaned her head against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

"So you're coming?" Allison asked, beaming. Apparently hearing about naked Stiles had no effect on her.

Shrugging, Stiles flicked his macaroni around with his fork, "I guess so. No promises Derek is going to come, though." He looked over at Erica, pointing his fork at her. "You'd better come too, ho."

Erica rolled her eyes. "Boyd's already going. Of course I'll be there." She smirked at him. "Plus someone will have to be there to make sure you don't drink yourself under a table. Or on top of a table, I should say."

"Why am I the table-dancer in this relationship?"

"Please, we both know that's something you'd do. Then you'd probably hit your head on a chandelier and get a concussion."

"That is so unrealistic," Stiles sniffed.

The four of them were able to keep friendly conversation for a bit, only pausing when Jackson Whittemore slid in beside Lydia.

Stiles reared back, holding his hands up in front of him.

"Whoa, fuckwit, what do you think you're doing?"

Jackson gave him a bitch face. Or was that his default expression? No one would ever know.

"I'm sitting with my girlfriend. Where's your girlfriend, Stiles? Oh, wait, I forgot. You're a faggot."

Lydia smacked Jackson's chest while Stiles loaded macaroni onto his fork and flicked it at Jackson's nose.

"Damn straight, homie. I am hella fucking gay," Stiles grinned obnoxiously as Jackson had a mini flip-out over the cheese stain on his shirt.

Sighing heavily, Lydia tossed a napkin into Jackson's lap. "Shut up, Jackson. Play nice with the other kids and eat your food."

He looked like a kick puppy. But he obediently started scrubbing at his shirt with the napkin, remaining silent.

"How are things with Derek, by the way?" Allison asked pleasantly.

Finishing up his macaroni, Stiles swallowed what was in his mouth before saying, "Fine, I guess. It doesn't feel like I'm making much progress, but I think I am. I'm just starting to get under his skin and before he knows it, he won't be able to get me out. Like a parasite. Or a tapeworm. It'll be awesome."

"And they'll finally have sex to get rid of all that tension between them," Erica deadpanned as Boyd took a seat beside her. He nodded 'hello' to everyone while Stiles squawked and Lydia and Allison shared a look of amusement. Jackson ignored Erica's comment and greeted Boyd in return.

"There's no sexual tension between us!" Stiles retorted.

Erica snorted. "You clearly haven't been there for all the lacrosse practices we've gone to. Even from the field, Derek radiates sexual tension. And you're just constantly buzzing around him or whenever we talk about him."

"It's true," Boyd agreed disinterestedly.

Turning up his nose, Stiles crossed his arms.

"You're dirty liars and I hate you both."

Allison caught his eye and gave him a secret smile. His expression softened and he finally gave in and gave her a barely-there smile in return.

"That's cute, Stiles."

"Yeah, yeah, fuckin' adorable," he mumbled, suddenly self-conscious. He avoided everyone's eyes and played with his phone instead.

Jackson finally decided to speak, and everyone at the table was prepared to jump in if he was going to start insulting people again.

"Monday night is the pep rally for the lacrosse team," he said instead. "You should all come out. Stilinski, you could dress as a cheerleader for your boyfriend."

"He is not my boyfriend, douchebag."

"Don't they usually have free hot dogs at those things?" Erica asked.

"Yup."

"We'll be there," she agreed. Everyone ignored Stiles' words of indignation.

The bell rang and the six of them dispersed into different directions, Boyd joining Erica to walk her to class. Before Stiles got the door to the school open, Allison tugged at his arm to get his attention.

"Party starts at 10. I'll see you there."

Stiles watched her leave and sighed, leaning his forehead against the nearest wall. There was once a time he loved parties. Over the years he started avoiding them like the plague. Except now he had no choice. It was time to pretend he didn't hate parties, and somehow convince Scott to convince Derek to get out for the evening. The more he thought about it, the more Stiles realized that maybe he and Derek had more in common than he originally thought. On the plus side, if they did start dating, they'd both want to stay inside and relax. Stiles could work with that.

He made sure to shoot Scott a text before getting to class. Now the only thing to do was wait til the party and see if Stiles had done enough to win Derek over, even just a little.

------

As expected, the party was loud and obnoxious. The students of BHHS were notorious for getting drunk way too fast, way too soon. Which resulted in both a lot of drunkards and an equal amount of kids throwing up in the bushes. It was wonderful. The smell of vomit and alcohol clung to the walls and wafted past Stiles' nostrils with every step he took.

Good thing he was well on his way to throwing up in a bush, himself.

Derek and Scott were no-shows so far and it was nearly midnight. Stiles had been drinking for 2 hours, enjoying exactly nothing about it. Except the whole 'free alcohol' thing, which was always a plus.

Erica gave him a severely judgmental look as he reached past her to grab another drink off the table. He nearly slipped and fell into her lap at least twice before his fingers wrapped around the bottle.

"You're a mess," she accused.

Stiles exhaled loudly, smiling triumphantly as he stared at the bottle in his hands.

"Yes, I am. Don't you just love parties? SO fucking great, brings back the best of memories," Stiles' smile contradicted his bitter tone.

Erica frowned, obviously concerned as she ran a hand through his hair to spike it up and make it fluffier.

Stiles hummed happily, leaning into her touch.

"Why'd you come, then?" she asked softly. Apparently she was the only sober one here. But then, she also did drive Stiles over. And it was made clear very early on that Stiles wasn't going to be the designated.

Closing his eyes, Stiles relished in the feeling of her massaging his scalp for a bit before he answered quietly, "I wanted to replace the bad memories with not-so bad ones."

It wasn't very often they had a touching, heart-felt moment. But Stiles' emotions were always multiplied by 10 whenever he was smashed. Plus he trusted Erica to not repeat anything he said to her. Sure, they may bitch at each other constantly throughout the day, but deep-down they'd do anything for the other. And that, Stiles found pretty cool.

"You're kind of awesome, I think I like you. Let's get married," Stiles gushed, his face smothered against Erica's leg. He was almost entirely in her lap at this point.

"You're drunk," Erica laughed.

"Am not, yer drunk."

"Oh, so everyone here is drunk except you. Sober Stiles here to the rescue."

"Ooooooobviously, my dear."

They stayed in companionable silence, Erica playing with his short hair while Stiles dozed off, only conscious enough to keep sipping his drink. When the hair-brushing stopped, Stiles kept his eyes closed and made a noise of discontent.

"Your boy's here," Erica explained.

"What about my boys here?"

"No, Stiles, your boy is here."

"Whut."

"Derek is here, he just walked in. He's looking around, probably for you."

Stiles continued to lie there. It took a while for the gears in his brain to process it, but when he did, his eyes snapped open and he sat up way too fast.

"Oh, shit," he groaned, clinging onto the couch for dear life as his vision spun.

Once he could see properly, Stiles spotted Derek making his way to the kitchen and slapped Erica's thigh excitedly.

"He's here! He's here, Erica," he gushed, pointedly ignoring her amused look.

Stiles jumped up to hurry after him, only stumbling twice on his way. And he might have crashed into a potted plant. By the time he caught up with Derek, he had spilled half his drink on himself and smelled like a brewery. Always so elegant, Stiles, well done.

"Derek! Hiiiiiiiiii," he could feel himself grinning like a fool but couldn't bring himself to care. Derek was here. Derek was here! Stiles must have done something right in order to get him to come out of his shell. As far as Stiles knew, Derek never ever came to parties either. They were like twins. Or soulmates. Oh, Derek was perfect.

And he was looking at Stiles with a wary gaze, holding his hands out as if he was going to catch Stiles when he inevitably tipped over.

"You're here," Stiles pointed out. He might have been swaying on his feet at this point. He grabbed Derek's outstretched hand to stable himself. "I'm . . . so happy. You can't --" he hiccuped, intertwining their fingers. He frowned at the hiccup for interrupting him.

"I . . . wow, you look good in blue. Blue isssss super pretty. Like you."

Derek seemed torn between being concerned and being amused. He was staying at Stiles' side regardless, though, which Stiles counted as a win.

Stiles raised their joined hands to his chest, pressing them against his rapidly beating heart as he scanned the crowd, seeing double of everyone, except not even a single Scott. Where was Scott?

"Where's Scott?"

"He's around," Derek answered. He pressed his free hand lightly to Stiles' side to shift him out of the way as a football player barreled into the kitchen.

The football player stumbled back to look at them with wide eyes. He reached a hand out to both of them, patting their cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, dudes. Are you alright? I didn't hurt you? Are you still in love and happy and good? I'm good," he grinned widely. "Oh, hey, Derek. Why're you . . . heeere. How you doing?"

He looked two seconds away from dropping to the floor.

Derek's lips had turned down in an attempt to keep from laughing at this point.

"I'm good, Kurt. You should get some water and sit down."

Kurt nodded, swaying back toward the dining room.

"That is a good idea, Derek Hale, you're so wise."

He was still talking as he left the room, his voice soon drowned out by the other students yelling among themselves.

"He's so drunk, dude," Stiles chortled into Derek's shoulder. He didn't realize he was leaning his chin against Derek until now. Stiles almost went cross-eyed in his attempt to look down at the blue t-shirt Derek was wearing. It was such a nice shirt. And soft, too. And Derek smelled so good oh my god.

"You smell so good," Stiles gushed, turning his face in toward Derek's neck.

"You smell like alcohol."

"Soooooooooooo good."

There was silence for a bit as Stiles' vision doubled, then tripled itself.

"Hey, Derek?"

"Stiles."

"I think I'm going to throw up."

Derek moved them so fast, Stiles was honestly surprised to find himself suddenly standing on the front lawn.

"Wow how you do that?" Stiles breathed out into the cool night air. He took big breaths at Derek's command. His vision was still spinning, but the cool air was helping a bit. He quickly decided that it was clearly the best idea to sit down on the grass that the sprinklers had freshly watered. Grabbing onto Derek's hand, Stiles gently lowered himself to the ground, using Derek's hand to support most of his weight.

"Stiles, you're going to stain your jeans."

"Being sick, staining jeans. Priorities," Stiles groaned back, full-out lying on his back now. He watched the stars above him twirl and dance with each other.

He let his eyes droop closed, breathing in for 3 seconds, then out for 3 seconds.

"Hey, Derek?" he whispered.

Derek hummed in response.

"I think I'm drunk."

There was a snort that came from somewhere to Stiles' right.

"Don't laugh at me," Stiles pouted, then quickly changed his mind. "Wait, no, you can laugh. And smile. Just don't do it when my eyes are closed, 'cause then it's like it never happened."

"Sounds good." Derek was obviously still smiling.

Reaching out to swipe at Derek's leg, Stiles pulled at the guy's jeans.

"I said don't smile when my eyes are closed, asshole."

"Then don't get so smashed next time, dickwad."

Stiles smiled happily to himself, eyes still closed.

"I love your pet names, Der-bear."

"Don't even start," Derek warned.

Stiles felt the grass rustle as Derek sat down beside his outstretched body.

"You're going to stain your jeans."

"Shut up, Stiles."

Stiles barked out a laugh, grabbing at his stomach when it churned like a mini storm was going on down there. He hated everything.

"Oh my god, Derek, don't make me laugh, you're a horrible person, you bitch."

There was no response, which Stiles assumed was because Derek was too busy silently laughing at him. Good to know Derek found other people's pain just soo amusing.

"So, do you, like, have an aversion to alcohol?" Stiles asked, finally opening his eyes to gaze up at Derek.

Derek Hale was truly a work of art. Especially at night, Stiles realized, watching as Derek sat with his legs outstretched, leaning back on his hands. He was looking out toward the street where a few other students were goofing off.

"I don't have good experiences with alcohol," Derek replied, his face giving nothing away. "Plus, someone's got to drive Scott home."

Stiles hummed his approval. "I'm not a big drinker."

He ignored Derek's judgmental eyebrows and continued on.

"The last time I was at a party was a couple years ago. I used to really like parties. But the last one I was at, it turns out I was invited to it to be the comedy act, basically. I got pushed around and laughed at. Lots of fun stuff. Fucking Jackson Whittemore was the one who pushed me into the pool, though. I hate that guy. But now he thinks I'm untouchable 'cause I'm a supposed bad-ass. I mean, his big mouth still finds a way to single me out, but I've learned to deal with it." He paused, trying to remember what his point was. "Anyway, that's just why I drank so much tonight. The whole atmosphere was crushing me and so I kind of, like, drank an ocean of alcohol to forget about all that."

There was silence between the two as Stiles drummed a rhythm out on his chest, humming absently to himself. He could have fallen asleep right there. He was totally down for that. He'd wake up in the morning before his dad got home and would slither into his own bed as if nothing happened. But the grass was so cold against his flushed skin and so welcoming. He didn't ever want to move.

"The last time I drank at a party, someone tried to slip me a date rape drug."

Stiles' blueprints on how to make a bunk bed out of grass came to an abrupt halt as he looked back at Derek in surprise.

"What? Dude!"

He struggled to sit up, grabbing onto Derek's arm as he straightened up. Stiles stared him down with wide eyes.

"Are you serious? Derek, that's not good, you need to report that. My dad's the sheriff, he can totally help you with that." By the time Stiles' passionate little speech was done, his hands had made their way to Derek's cheeks and he was smooshing them together.

"Stiles, it was nearly a year ago," Derek replied, catching Stiles' hands and removing them from his face.

"It's still really serious."

"It's fine, they didn't succeed."

"They could try it to other people!"

Derek laughed, not in a good way. "Trust me, I was the only one they had their sights set on."

Deciding to make the topic a bit lighter, Stiles arched a brow. "Well somebody's narcissistic."

"Who, me? I'm perfect."

Stiles could hardly contain the laugh that bubbled out of him. He dropped his head, staring down at Derek's lap as he tried to regain his breath.

"You're so funnnyyyyyyyy," he wheezed.

"It wasn't that funny."

"Yezz it was." He started giggling again, a little madly.

They sat like that for a bit while Stiles attempted to sober up. So far it wasn't working, but they still had time. He could feel Derek rubbing his back in soothing, ghostly soft motions. Derek had gone all guard dog on him and kept flickering his gaze between Stiles and the kids scattered about the yard.

Stiles slowly raised his head so he was eye-to-eye with Derek. Laughing softly again, Stiles slowly started rubbing circles against the stubble on Derek's cheeks.

"Hey . . ." Stiles breathed, completely serious now with wide eyes. He stared at Derek, feeling his lips part in awe. "Your eyes have, like . . . yellow in them, too."

Derek appeared to be trying not to roll his eyes, but his lips did twitch, so Stiles didn't count it as a loss.

Having Derek so close made thrums of electricity shock through Stiles' fingers. He felt like he was going to buzz out of his skin. His cheeks were flushed and, hell, he was drunk but he knew that even when he was sober he wanted to kiss Derek. It just so happened that when he had drank a bit of liquid courage, he found the balls to be able to do it.

His eyes flickered from Derek's lips to his eyes, Derek tracing the movement with his own gaze.

Slowly leaning in, Stiles' nose had just brushed Derek's when the other man turned his head away.

"Stiles," he warned softly, "you're so far gone right now."

And that, Stiles found offensive.

"No, I'm not," he insisted, moving in again.

Derek pulled back again. "Yes, you are."

Stiles was well aware of what he was doing, thank you very much, and Derek was just using that as an excuse. If Derek wasn't interested at all, he shouldn't have even come to the party.

And yeah, Stiles distantly knew he was being a bit over-dramatic and sensitive, but that didn't stop him from lashing out.

He pulled his hands away from Derek like he had been burned. Stumbling to his feet, Stiles yanked his arm away from Derek when he reached out to try to help him stand.

Derek sighed. "Stiles --"

"Save it," Stiles muttered, beginning his walk back to the house. He didn't get very far before he whirled back on Derek, who had been following behind him.

"Why did you even come here if you don't like me, Derek?! I was the one who invited you, with clear intentions that you come to spend time with me. Did you think it'd be funny to play around with my emotions and get my hopes up? Or did you actually just come so Scott could too? Because for some reason, I find that option harder to believe."

He didn't realize he had been yelling until Derek firmly placed his hand over top of Stiles' mouth to silence him. Stiles tried to pry his hand off but couldn't move his head after Derek's other hand came around to hold the back of it in place.

"Stiles, you are so drunk right now, you didn't even realize you were walking toward the tool shed instead of the house," Derek snapped.

Stiles froze. He glared at the tool shed beside him. He could have sworn it looked like a house from 10 feet away.

"I'm not going to be some drunken hookup of yours," Derek finished, decidedly.

Now Stiles was really offended, yanking away from Derek's hold on him.

"You really think I was going to take it that far!? I just wanted to kiss you, Derek! I don't know how someone could have fucked you over so badly in the past to make you have such bad trust issues, but I am nothing like them! I'm not about to slip you a drug to get you into bed with me. And, I'm not that drunk! I know exactly what I'm doing, and I know how fucking badly I've been wanting to kiss you up to this point. I just --" Stiles paused to take a few deep breaths, feeling his heart pound dangerously. "I just . . . fuck, wanted this party to be better since you're here. You asshole."

This time, Stiles managed to successfully direct himself back to the house, not even checking to see if Derek had followed or not. Yes, Stiles' emotions could get out of hand after having a bit to drink, but he'd worry about that later. For now, he set his sights on the table full of shots and drowned everything else out.

----

Stiles regretted every fucking thing he had ever done. He regretted everything. If his dad decided to randomly give him up for adoption, he'd willingly go. He would change his name, dye his hair -- anything, if it meant he forgot about last night.

He had been such an ass. Such an ass. Oh, god, kill him now. Sure, he knew that everyone already thought of him as an asshole, except he had never actually considered himself one. That had quickly changed as snapshots of last night resurfaced in his memory.

After downing a couple thousand pain killers, Stiles took the longest shower possible to delay the inevitable: calling Erica.

He was already cringing just at the thought of what she was going to say to him.

Dragging himself down the stairs, Stiles grunted out a 'good morning' to his dad.

The sheriff arched an eyebrow at his son, slowly spooning himself more cereal.

"You alright over there?"

"Totally horrible, it's great," Stiles answered while searching the back of the fridge for bacon. He kept it hidden in a bag of salad for emergencies like this, plus his dad never touched salad unless Stiles was shoving it down his throat, so he knew it would still be there.

"I'm making bacon," he announced, ignoring the suddenly happy vibes he was getting from his dad. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but you'll still get a limit on the amount of pieces you get."

"Do you hear me complaining?"

"Not yet. You will be when you only get 4 pieces. Which --" Stiles turned to wave the spatula threateningly at his dad, "is 4 pieces too many."

The sheriff waved him off before finishing up his cereal. Dumping his bowl into the sink beside the stove, he bumped his shoulder into Stiles'.

"I'll be in the office. Holler when it's ready."

"You'll be out here like a dog as soon as it's ready, who are you kidding? I won't even have to say a thing to you, you'll just know!" Stiles yelled after his dad.

He waited until he heard the office door shut before sliding out his cell phone. He mentally prepared himself, taking a few deep breaths before he dialed Erica's number.

Watching the bacon sizzle, Stiles got antsier with every ring.

"Well, well, well, look who's awake."

Stiles dropped his head in his free hand.

"How bad was I last night? I can only remember up to the point of me being a complete dick to Derek."

"Yeah, you really were a dick," Erica agreed. "You told me the whole story after having a couple thousand shots. I think it was mainly just bad because he didn't deserve to have you blow up like that when all he did was have consent issue. Geez, Stiles, why are you such an asshole?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing his arms out. "It was the alcohol!"

"Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol."

"Shut up, you know how I get."

"I do," Erica hummed. "And you owe Derek a sincere apology. Something big. Like a new TV."

Sighing deeply, Stiles shifted the bacon around on the frying pan.

"I can't afford a TV. If I had money, I'd buy him a star and name it after him. I was almost at Jackson's level of douchebaggery."

Erica chirped her own agreement, finding his misery all-too amusing.

Stiles leaned his elbows against the counter, chin on his hand. He sighed deeply as he listened to Erica go about her day, mumbling something about missing nail polish.

" . . . Did Scott and Allison at least have a good time?" he finally asked.

Erica made a thoughtful noise before saying, "I think so. I mean, they were holding hands the entire night. And I'm preeetty sure I saw them kiss. It was adorable. Except they were blushing like preschoolers, so I don't know how they're going to ever have sex."

"They kissed?" Stiles asked so quietly it almost didn't come out at all.

" . . . Stiles, just talk to him," Erica said softly. "I'm sure he'll forgive you after you acknowledge that he was right and you were kind of in the wrong because, let's face it, you were a bit too drunk. I also think you would have enjoyed your guys' first kiss more if you had been sober."

Stiles made a wounded noise.

"What's bothering you most about it?" Erica asked, getting into therapist mode.

Stiles took his time to respond, flipping over the bacon. He leaned back against the counter and sighed.

"I guess just how much I overreacted. I hate drinking, dude, it makes me stupid. And I accused him of stupid things. And if he didn't say 'no' to kissing me, I would have technically been taking advantage of him. Good on him for having the balls to push me away. I just . . . I hate the thought of taking advantage of him, even though I was technically the drunk one, it wouldn't have been fair to him. Plus, he's been taken advantage of in the past and I just -- god, I'm so embarrassed and I want to talk to him but at the same time I kind of want to throw myself off a bridge."

"I feel you," Erica comforted. She was silent for a few beats before saying, "You know, he was never that far away from you for the rest of the night. It was actually kind of endearing. He was making sure you weren't like, about to die from alcohol-poisoning or something."

Stiles made another wounded noise.

". . . You know what you should do?" Erica suddenly said. "You should make a public display and embarrass yourself to get the point across that you're very truly sorry."

"Erica, I already embarrassed myself! That's a horrible idea."

"No, it's not. Public displays of affection and all -- they're apparently really moving. Plus it's making a big statement."

Stiles sighed long and hard, turning off the burner and moving the bacon onto a plate.

Just like predicted, his dad was instantly in the kitchen and grabbing himself a plate. He pointed to Stiles' phone, frowned, and mouthed 'Erica?'.

Stiles nodded silently. He swatted his dad's hand away when he went to take a 5th piece of bacon.

"There's that lacrosse pep rally coming up," Erica pointed out.

It was the tone of her voice that put Stiles on edge.

"Shit, Erica, what are you thinking?"

"Language, Stiles."

"Poop, Erica, what are you thinking?" Stiles amended with a pointed look at his dad.

"Something," she replied innocently. "Let's put it this way, you'll need to do something big to get his attention. If you tried speaking to him one-on-one, he might just turn around and walk away."

Stiles whined into his bacon.

"I'm not saying he would, Stiles, he'd probably give you a chance. I'm just saying that worst-comes-to-worst, he might. But the main reason is so that you embarrass yourself horribly in order to prevent making a similar mistake in the future. You don't want to have to embarrass yourself again, now would you?"

There was mumbling on her end, a deep voice that was probably Boyd's suddenly joining in.

Stiles listened to the muttering while dejectedly chewing at his breakfast.

"Boyd says embarrassing yourself would definitely be an ice-breaker," Erica advised.

"Eff you both," Stiles bit out. "You aren't the ones who have to do it. You probably have already formed an idea, too!"

There was a suspicious silence on the other line. Stiles felt his coffin slowly closing on him.

"We might have an idea . . ."

--------

"'We might have an idea', my ass," Stiles huffed.

"Fake it 'til you make it," Erica advised. "You'll never get the point across if you look like you don't want to be here."

"I don't want to be here! I could apologize like a normal person instead!"

"Stiles, nothing about you is normal. Plus, this makes things interesting."

"Oh, it's interesting, alright," one of the cheerleaders behind them murmured, eying Stiles' uncomfortably short shorts with interest.

Stiles made an offended sound as he scrambled to cover his legs. The cheerleaders seemed to grow even more amused with the whole situation, which he didn't appreciate. They at least were used to dancing around half-naked. He, however, was not. At least not when it was outside the comfort of his own home.

"Relax, Stiles," Heather spoke up from the crowd. "You're a fast learner. You've got the basic routine down pat, plus you're surprisingly flexible. I think you'll do great!"

Stiles didn't know whether to thank her or start up another argument. He settled for sighing at his miserable life, glancing past the bleachers to see the field. The principal was standing on the grass, facing the students on the bleachers while giving his little speech about the exciting new season coming up. Next he would call out the lacrosse players one by one, and then the cheerleaders would come out and perform a little dance. And Stiles would be with them. He hated his life.

At least his dad didn't know about this. He would actually never hear the end of it if the Sheriff was to pay witness to his 16 year old son dressed in too-tight clothes, performing with cheerleaders. All to get a guy's attention, too.

That last thought alone nearly made Stiles face-palm right then and there. He had reached a new low.

Once the principal stepped aside and Finstock took over the microphone, Stiles started to get anxious. Being team captain, Derek was called out first. Followed by Jackson Whittemore and Boyd, then a bunch of other people Stiles didn't care to take note of. Scott ran onto the field looking as excitable as ever, and Stiles had to crack a smile at that.

Once Greenberg was called out as the final player, Finstock began his long spiel over how this season was going to 'shock the balls off of everyone'. After receiving a warning look from the principal, Finstock stuttered and stumbled the rest of the way through his speech, quickly deciding to just introduce the cheerleaders instead of dig himself a deeper hole.

Stiles would have preferred it if he had kept talking aimlessly. That way Stiles would have more time to prepare himself.

"Ready, Stilinski?" Erica grinned, giving him a friendly smack on the back. True to her word, she had gotten a free hotdog and was happily munching away at it. While Stiles was getting ready to meet his doom.

"Kill me," he uttered weakly.

The cheerleaders all began skipping out, waving their pom-poms excitedly as they made their way onto the field. Stiles had never been on the field when it was all set up with an actual crowd watching and the bright lights blaring down at them through the night sky.

There were a few cat-calls and wolf whistles from the stands and Stiles made eye contact with a speechless Derek.

That sight was enough to help Stiles get back the confidence he usually had. He threw Derek a wink before turning to focus on the little background routine he was assigned to. His job was easy: do a couple cartwheels here and there, and make sure the flyers didn't land on their heads.

Stiles never would have thought he'd fine the whole thing exhilarating and not as atrocious as he originally believed it would be. He just might have to consider signing up for the team next year. Or maybe he'd wake up tomorrow and decide that was a stupid idea.

At the end of their routine, Heather was beaming at him with pride. She jogged up and ruffled his hair before the rest of the squad hurried back to the change rooms. All of them except Stiles, who casually made his way over to the stands, eyes locked with Derek's. While the other students began to filter out, Derek remained sitting on the team bench. As did Scott, who didn't sense the atmosphere between them.

He jumped up, smacking Stiles on the chest.

"Dude! Since when are you into cheerleading?"

"Since I realized I really couldn't make a bigger fool out of myself than I did this weekend," he was looking at Scott while he spoke, but he could see Derek watching them.

Scott scrunched his brows together.

"What happened this weekend?"

"I was stupid and said some equally stupid things I didn't mean . . ." Stiles turned to look at Derek now. "And I wanted to apologize."

Scott now finally seemed to understand that now wasn't the time to be a third wheel. He shot Stiles a grin and clapped him one more time on the shoulder before heading off toward the locker room.

Derek was staring down at the grass when Stiles inched closer to him so he was standing in front of him.

"I'm kind of an idiot when I'm drunk."

" . . . So you admit you were drunk?" Derek clarified, lifting his eyes up to stare into Stiles' own.

Stiles' tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. He took a few deep breaths before replying, "Yes. . . . Not that I didn't want to -- to kiss you. But I do recognize now that the environment wasn't ideal and it . . . yeah, I had too much to drink. I'm sorry."

"And you thought throwing on shorts that barely cover your ass was a good way to get my attention?"

Ignoring his warm cheeks, Stiles crossed his arms, arching a brow defiantly. "Are you saying you don't like my legs?"

Derek slowly stood up, standing so close they were nearly brushing chests. "I never said that."

Stiles couldn't help his answering smile. He tried to ignore how close they were standing, except Derek was radiating heat like a fucking furnace and Stiles' heart was about to have an attack.

"Soooo . . ." Stiles began, glancing down at Derek's jersey when their staring contest became too heated. He plucked absently at it, pulling it away from Derek's stomach and releasing it back. "You busy tomorrow?"

Derek shrugged nonchalantly.

"I could be available."

Stiles felt like his grin would split his face in two. He pursed his lips together to refrain from looking like a maniac.

"We should be available together," he suggested coyly.

Now Derek was the one to look down, watching Stiles' fingers play with his jersey. He was totally almost smiling -- just a little bit, but shit, that was enough for Stiles, who thought of it like climbing mount Everest.

Derek hummed, looking to the side and pretending to be deep in thought.

"Maybe," he finally said with a shrug, sliding away from Stiles and walking off towards the locker room. Just like that, he was able to break their little moment. It happened all so suddenly that Stiles almost had to catch himself from falling forward.

He scowled at Derek's retreating figure, ignoring the blush on his cheeks. It was one thing to play hard to get. It was another thing to be at Derek Hale's level of difficulty.

"So you'll pick me up at eight then?" Stiles hollered, grinning when Derek simply waved a hand over his shoulder at him, not turning back.

He was so making Derek fall for the Stilinski charm.

--------

The sheriff was not happy. He came home from a three million hour shift ("Dad, it was, like, 10 hours.") to find his son sneaking a pizza out of the oven, which the sheriff was apparently to have none of.

He watched as Stiles maneuvered back to the couch, massive plate of pizza with him. He was determinedly avoiding his dad's gaze.

"Son, if I want a meat lover's pizza, I am having a meat lover's pizza."

"No, dad, your arteries!" Stiles yelled, smacking away his dad's hands. "You're getting in the way of Veronica Mars, stop it!" He strained to reach for the remote to pause Netflix while battling with his dad's grabby hands.

"Well, what else am I supposed to eat? You didn't make me an extra diet salad with negative 500 calories," Sheriff pointed out, counting it as a victory.

Stiles' mouth worked itself soundlessly. "I-- but -- you weren't supposed to come home until, like, eleven! Then your salad would have been ready."

"I would have been able to sense the grease of the pizza from miles away. I never would have settled for a salad."

"Okay, first of all, your ability to sense junk food from miles away is nothing to brag about," Stiles scolded, shimmying further down the couch. "Secondly, do you realize what . . ." He stopped at the knocking going on at the door.

Grinning at his dad, Stiles nodded his head toward the door.

"That's for you, pops!"

He happily began dishing out a couple slices of pizza onto his plate while the sheriff grumbled and griped all the way to the door.

Stiles resumed his TV episode and happily cozied down into his nest of blankets, typing up a half-assed response to a question Scott texted him. Stiles loved Tuesday nights. They were lazy nights. Well . . . actually, when he came to think of it, every night was a lazy night for Stiles. He eyed the chemistry homework lying open on the coffee table, then the clock. It was only eight. He had plenty of time to work on that after Veronica Mars.

Except then his dad decided to walk back into the room, a look on his face that made Stiles fear for something. That was his 'you've been a little shit and so this is your punishment' look.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but stopped. Mouth hanging open he made eye-contact with Derek, who had just walked in alongside the sheriff.

Stiles' eyes were probably as wide as saucers, he figured, staring at Derek.

The sheriff dropped down onto the couch beside Stiles, snatching the massive plate of pizza.

"Guess I'll have to take this off your hands," he sighed. "Have fun with Derek."

Stiles continued to look at Derek, while Derek looked back at him, hands in his pockets.

Why was Derek always dressed so sharply? Stiles was in an over-sized Batman shirt and boxers with little cat faces on them.

"What are you doing here?" he finally managed to squeak out.

Derek was unimpressed.

"You said yesterday to pick you up at eight." He gestured his arms out as if to say 'here I am'.

Stiles actually couldn't figure out if this was a dream or not. He was distantly aware of his father watching them with unmasked interest, already tucking into the large, extra greasy pan pizza Stiles had planned to eat all on his own. Damn Derek.

"Oh . . ." he finally said, still unable to tear his eyes off Derek.

His dad apparently had had enough of the awkward tension.

"Geez, kid, go put your pants on and be back by eleven," Sheriff ordered, giving Stiles a shove.

Stiles wrapped his ducky blanket tighter around his bare legs, sending Derek a warning look all the while. As if Derek hadn't already seen him half naked the day before.

Once he was around the corner and in the hallway, Stiles scrambled up the stairs, ditching the blanket in his doorway as he jumped to his dresser. He pulled out his best skinny jeans and -- stopped. There was only plaid in his closet. You'd think he would have prepared himself in some way for the day he got a date. But apparently he wasn't that optimistic.

Turning back to his dresser, Stiles shimmied through it until finally deciding on a dark red Henley.

He briefly glanced in the mirror before bounding back down the stairs. His bed-head was as tidy as it would ever be.

Derek didn't appear to have moved, except he was now angled more towards the sheriff than he had been earlier.

Stiles must have stumbled in mid-conversation, since they both stopped to look at him.

He anxiously wiped his palms on his jeans, giving his dad a warning look.

"Don't you dare eat all that pizza. I expect to see leftovers in the fridge when I get home."

The sheriff made a noncommittal sound, waving his son off as he flipped the TV to baseball.

Stiles grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone before stepping up to Derek, exhaling shakily.

"Ready?"

Derek gave him a once-over, stopping on his eyes.

"Are you?"

Stiles didn't think his nervousness had been that obvious. He scoffed, waving a hand through the air.

"I'm totally cool, let's fly."

It turns out Stiles was actually pretty good at acting like he wasn't about to have a heart attack. He spent the entire car ride babbling on, filling in the silence because they both knew Derek wasn't going to.

They were about ten minutes into the drive when Stiles finally realized he didn't know where they were going. He suddenly perked up, eyes darting from window to window of the Camaro.

"So, uh . . . where we going?"

"It's about time you asked."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I could have been driving you to your death and you still would have been going on about the difference between seasoning salt and regular salt on curly fries," Derek commented.

Stiles made an offended noise. "It's a valid argument!"

Derek shook his head fondly, slowing the car to a stop. He pulled into a parking space and Stiles instantly twisted to look at where they were.

They were parked outside Alfonso's -- home of the best fucking Italian food Stiles had ever encountered. He nearly came right there. Just seeing the name of the restaurant was enough to make his mouth water.

"What -- how -- how did you know I fucking love this place?" Stiles gaped, spinning around to look at Derek.

Derek tried to appear indifferent, but Stiles caught that little blush on his face.

"Scott isn't completely worthless," Derek muttered under his breath as he climbed out of the car. Such a generous compliment. On the plus side, Stiles now knew why Scott had been texting him a bunch of seemingly random questions all afternoon, including one asking what his address was. Man, that should have been a dead give away.

Stiles stumbled out of the car after Derek, chewing his lip to stifle a grin. The amount of love Derek and Scott had for each other was so obvious, yet they both insisted that being brothers was the worst thing that could have happened to them.

Slipping past Derek as he held the door open, Stiles was 300% sure he looked like a child in a candy store.

The server happily greeted them and led them over to a table near the back, leaving them on their own once dropping off menus.

Alfonso's was a restaurant for everyone and all occasions. With its dark walls and hardwood floors, it was a warm and welcoming atmosphere. Plus the chairs were super comfy and the warm lighting engulfed each table in its own little bubble of privacy.

Stiles was melting.

"Dude . . ." he breathed, awestruck.

He looked at Derek like he hung the moon.

"It's just Italian . . ." Derek shrugged, looking incredibly bashful. It made Stiles melt even more.

"Just Italian, he says," Stiles repeated dramatically, clutching his chest. "Italian is life, dude. Noodles and shit. Oh my god, I'm going to be obese. You'll roll me out of here once we're done, right?"

"Already got the crane operators on speed-dial," Derek answered monotonously.

That startled a laugh out of Stiles, throwing his head back and covering his face with a menu.

"Stop, we're not supposed to be having fun," his groaned, his voice muffled from behind the menu. He took it off his face and pointed his shoulder to the other people in the restaurant, who were all either silently eating or were too busy texting to actually converse with the people at their table. "Look at how miserable everyone else looks."

Derek reached over and plucked his menu back from Stiles' hands.

"I can always take out my phone and pretend you don't exist," Derek suggested, eying the food choices.

"Funnyyyyy."

Stiles didn't believe that for a minute. Although, speaking of phones, he would have to get Derek's number somehow.

Once receiving their drinks and placing their orders, Stiles reached across the table, making grabby hands.

Derek looked at those hands with an arched brow, sipping at his water. Water. Of course he'd go all healthy and get a water. Meanwhile Stiles over here got a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream, sprinkles, and chocolate chips. He wouldn't be lying if he said he felt a tad bit embarrassed at the drastic difference between their drinks.

"What are these for?" Derek questioned, wiggling one of Stiles' fingers.

"Your phone," Stiles answered, wiggling Derek's own finger in response.

"Oh, so you can ignore me instead?"

"Please, if I wanted to do that, I'd take out my own phone," Stiles grinned.

Derek shot him a suspicious look, but complied anyway and handed over the phone.

It took a solid two minutes for Stiles to figure out how to turn it on. Meanwhile Derek sighed, long-suffering as he watched Stiles fumble.

Stiles slapped Derek's hand away when he reached over to help out.

"I've got this," Stiles insisted. He flipped the phone around again and found the button he originally thought was for controlling the volume.

"A-ha!"

His joy was very short-lived once the screen lit up and he realized it was password protected with a little pattern thingy. He let out an involuntary whimper as all his patterns failed to unlock it.

Derek finally plucked the phone out of his hands and unlocked it in a second. He turned it back around and handed it over once more.

"Show-off," Stiles mumbled. He flicked over to Derek's contacts, typing in his own name and number. He shot himself a text before tossing the phone back to Derek.

"Now you can't escape me, aren't you lucky?"

It was probably a good thing that Derek's reply was cut-off by their food arriving.

Stiles couldn't remember the last time he had had quality Italian food. He always made sure to steer his dad as far away from starches as much as he could. Which meant Stiles had to settle for mediocre pasta whenever he had a craving for it. Kraft Dinner macaroni and cheese, while fucking delicious, just didn't compare to Alfonso's homemade version.

"It comes with garlic bread, Derek!"

"I see that, Stiles."

"Best fucking night ever."

He might have moaned a bit after that first bite of bread, but there was no proof.

All in all, Stiles considered it a rather successful first date. Not to mention that Derek wasn't so strict with his diet after all, seeing as how he shamelessly plucked quite a few chocolate chips off of Stiles' milkshake. Then after he and Derek bickered for a good couple minutes over who was going to pay, Derek ended up beating him to it, whipping out his card and holding an arm out to block Stiles from the machine. Derek nearly clothes-lined him in the process.

Stiles was on cloud 9 for the rest of the night after Derek had begrudgingly said he might let Stiles pay next time.

'Next time' Stiles repeated in his mind as he crawled into bed, grin on his face. It took him a bit longer to fall asleep that night, but the intense bed head and eye bags in the morning were totally worth it.

------------------------

Ever since starting this whole 'date Derek Hale' plot, Stiles had noticed a little change in the relationship with his dad. It was mainly since Stiles was so preoccupied with Derek and Scott that he didn't really think about fucking off during class and messing with the teachers for fun. And Stiles really liked this new, easy atmosphere between the Stilinski men. He truly wanted to keep it going, but then Harris had to go and open up his enormous mouth and ruin everything.

It was during biology, Stiles doodling notes to flick at Scott while inconspicuously texting under his desk.

Erica was apparently suffering through a chemistry lab with Greenberg as a partner. Heaven knows Greenberg and anything scientific was a lethal combination -- and not in a good way.

Derek, meanwhile, replied to Stiles' comments with equally as deep philosophical questions regarding topics ranging from Norwegian folk music to the European tree frog. Stiles' sides were aching from the amount of laughter he was suppressing.

While waiting for Derek's next witty comeback, Stiles half-heartedly tuned back in to whatever topic Harris was wearing thin. Man, he was glad there were only 2 more weeks left of this semester. After exams, no more Harris.

". . . homosexuality is the complete opposite of the natural human reproductive process. Humans technically are not supposed to be attracted to the same sex," Harris stated, ever-so confident in himself.

Stiles' eyes sliced over to Harris, who had the balls to look Stiles in the eyes as he said the next part.

"Homosexuality is a chemical imbalance in the brain, similar to bi-polarity or depression, and a cure should be researched if we know what's good for the future of mankind."

"The 'future of mankind'?" Stiles snapped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Numerous students looked up at his intrusion, the air suddenly zapping with excitement.

"Mr. Stilinski, if you use that language again in my class, I'll be seeing you in detention."

"You know what? Give me a detention, you bigot. I thought teachers were supposed to be on neutral grounds regarding touchy subjects like that, just like religious discussions." Stiles gripped his pen tightly, grinding his teeth together. "We need to find 'a cure'. What bullshit. How about we find a cure for people with the mental disorder of homophobia? Or - or, how about we cure the world of all those people who have hearing aids? I don't trust those sketchy bastards, they've got some kind of mutant power over us. Did you know homosexuality is common in other species such as penguins, giraffes, and even lions? There's also a type of monkey that sometimes chooses same-sex partners, and they're humanity's closest relative! The thing wrong with the world these days isn't gay people, it's pretentious people like you who insist on shoving their beliefs down everyone's throats."

Harris looked as calm and unaffected as ever.

"That was a beautiful speech, Stilinski. If you have anything else to contribute, stop by after school for an hour of detention."

"Actually, I'm not done," Stiles decided. If he was going to do this, he would go hard or go home.

"You know what makes me sick? How people like you decide that, for some strange reason, your opinion should reign supreme over everybody else's. Is this 'cause you're an upper-class white male who's had everything handed to him? It's almost sad how you don't have anybody in your life, but it's not like anyone can blame people for avoiding you. Who cares if someone is gay or straight or asexual? It's all love in the end -- why should we discourage that? You just need to pull your thick head out of your ass and get with the flow that we gays are here to stay, dick-sucking and all."

Stiles heard someone repress a laugh, while someone else let out an 'ooh, burn'. Scott looked like a mixture of proud and concerned.

Harris gave him an in-school suspension for inappropriate language and aggressive behavior.

His dad was going to kill him. Not to mention he got his phone taken away for the rest of the day, meaning Stiles was sitting in an empty classroom alone with nothing but his piles of homework to accompany him for the next 4 hours.

Afterward, Stiles sat on the bleachers at the field, watching the lacrosse practice for a bit while waiting for his dad.

Predictably, when his dad finally showed up, he had his hands on his hips and his angry eyebrows on.

What made it worse was how he didn't even lecture Stiles. He just led the way to the car and drove them home, Stiles twitching anxiously all the while. Sometimes it felt like it would be better to just be yelled at, instead of receive the silent treatment.

Once they got home, Stiles hovered in the doorway of the kitchen while his dad sat himself down at the head of the table.

They waited in complete silence until the sheriff sighed and said, "Was it really necessary to make a remark on certain sexual acts gay men do to each other?"

Stiles shifted from foot to foot, his cheeks filling with color.

"It was mainly to make a point," he muttered.

They resumed their silence, and Stiles kept an eye on the liquor cabinet to make sure his dad didn't go for it. He wouldn't be able to live with the guilt if he forced his dad back to alcoholism for comfort.

"Did he at least deserve to be called a bigot?"

Stiles' gaze snapped over to his dad, eyes wide with hope.

"He did, trust me! He's just -- so -- guh! I can't even explain it, dad, he was going off about homosexuality and how it needed to be 'cured' and I just -- that's not fair. How come we're told to live in silence and even when we do, we still get shit on? Harris is the actual seed of Chuckie."

The sheriff was still rubbing his forehead, sighing deeply to himself.

"Dad," Stiles took a hesitant step closer, "I'm sorry. I just . . . I got defensive and lashed out, and I know you're always telling me to control my tongue but, like . . . I couldn't just not say anything when he was staring me right in the eye and saying all that stuff."

Sheriff finally looked up at his son, squinting his eyes. "I understand why you did it. What I don't approve of is the language you used."

Stiles opened his mouth to defend himself but closed it again, deciding to actually follow his dad's advice and be quiet for once.

"I don't know what kind of punishment to give you, son. I feel like an in-school suspension would be torture enough for the likes of you."

"I wasn't able to text or anything," Stiles agreed quickly.

The sheriff gave him a look before he said, "That's a good idea."

Ice ran down Stiles' spine.

"No, it's not."

"Oh, I think it is. Either you give up Netflix for a week, or you give me your phone for a week."

Stiles' jaw dropped. Maybe it was actually his dad who was the seed of Chuckie.

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, yes, I would. And you're lucky I'm giving you the choice."

Stiles took a moment to think it through, coming to the conclusion that if there was a show he wanted to see, he could always try to find it online. Even if he had to suffer through the buffering process, it was better than losing his phone.

Sighing dramatically, Stiles spun on his heel.

"Fine, take away my Netflix, my only reason for living. See if I care."

"Drama queen."

"I learn from the best!"

By the time Stiles got up to his room, he felt 300 times lighter. He wouldn't trade his dad for anyone in the world. Dumping himself onto the bed, Stiles breathed deeply, squirming when his phone jabbed into his butt bone. He rolled over to slide it out of his pocket, turning it on to see what kind of messages he got in the time the phone was confiscated.

Erica had, naturally, sent over 6 texts to let him know of the latest rumors going around about him.

'Apparently you smashed Harris' hand with a stapler.'

'You dropped a nail into his coffee.'

'Wait, wait, this one's even weirder: you threw a snail at him and it got stuck in his ear canal and he's dying now because of you.'

Stiles was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to weep for humanity.

'The fuck?' he typed back.

He scrolled through Scott's panicked texts asking if he was okay and if Harris had killed him after class.

'and if u are dead i can tell everyone that i had the pleasure of seeing your last moments up close and personal. u died a hero.'

'Gee thanks Scott. I'm fine. You saw how he was about to burst a blood vessel. I'd be more concerned about him,' Stiles replied.

There was only one from Derek, unsurprisingly. Stiles figured Scott had told him the whole story already, so he really had no reason to ask a bunch of questions to get all the juicy details. Instead, Derek had just sent a two-worded text that made Stiles' day that much better.

'Ice cream?'

Stiles grinned at his phone. He set it aside, pressing his hands into his cheeks and squishing them together to prevent his face from doing stupid things like blushing or smiling like a clown. It didn't work.

He texted back an affirmative before hopping back downstairs.

"Hey, dad, can I go out for ice cream with Derek?"

The sheriff peered up from his case papers. He moved his glasses down the bridge of his nose to stare at Stiles with his piercing blue eyes that probably saw right to Stiles' soul.

"What makes you think I'd say 'yes' after your little showdown today?"

"Because I'm your only son and I'll run away to Canada if you deny me my freedom."

"Well, at least I know you'll be in good hands," the sheriff replied solemnly, turning away.

"Da-ad!"

"You be back home by 8:00."

Stiles spluttered. "8:00? That's in, like," he whipped over to look at the wall clock, "2 hours!"

"Yep."

The sheriff looked at him, daring Stiles to argue a bit more.

Pursing his lips, Stiles squinted his eyes in an attempt to look intimidating. He clearly didn't get his intimidation powers from his dad, seeing as how they had no effect whatsoever. His mom just had to go and pass her big-eyed, innocent looks onto him.

Once realizing his dad wasn't going to crack and he was pushing his luck as is, Stiles sighed, shoulder slumping.

"Fine, 8:00."

The sheriff smiled, pleased with himself. He looked back down at his papers and added, "I want 2 scoops of macadamia nut."

It took a while for it to register in Stiles' mind that his dad was demanding ice cream. He flailed once realization dawned on him.

"What? No way! You have to watch your blood pressure and crap."

"My blood pressure is through the roof because of your behavior today," the sheriff replied easily. He gave his son a dark look that had Stiles shrinking in on himself. "Ice cream will put it back to normal."

"You no longer even have blood in your body, do you? It's just lard keeping you going."

"Watch it, boy. And even if that's true, I'll need to keep my lard level up so I don't drop dead. My overly dramatic son wouldn't know what to do with himself if he had to act like an adult."

Stiles gave a sarcastic laugh on his way out of the kitchen. He shimmied back upstairs and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, ditching his hoodie for a snug-fitting white t-shirt. A thought dawned on him and he stuck his head out his door to holler down the stairs.

"And how do you expect the ice cream to stay frozen for 2 hours?"

"I'd be fine with ice cream soup!" His dad yelled back.

Scowling, Stiles slithered back into his room in search of his wallet. Because he was going to pay this time, dammit. Especially seeing as how he'd now be getting one for his dad, too, apparently. The sheriff played dirty.

Checking his phone every so often, Stiles fucked around on the computer for a bit until his phone buzzed with a text alerting him that Derek was out front.

Before the sheriff could get up and check who was outside, Stiles flew down the stairs and out the door, yelling a quick 'hi dad, bye dad' on his way.

Derek raised a brow at Stiles as he dropped into the passenger seat, slightly out of breath.

Stiles noticed his look and shrugged. "I had to protect you from my dad," he explained solemnly, flicking a hand in the house's general direction. "You might have been interrogated over things you did as a toddler."

"Heaven forbid," Derek agreed.

He slowly began backing the car out of the driveway and Stiles shimmied down in the leather seat, getting comfy. He stared at the window and briefly wondered if he'd need a jacket as it started to get darker. It was a sweltering day, so most likely it'd be comfortably warm for the rest of the evening. He glanced over at Derek and looked seriously offended at the sight of his leather jacket.

"How are you wearing that?" Stiles demanded, reaching over and plucking at the material on Derek's shoulder.

Derek shot him a look. "It could get cold."

"It was a million and a half degrees today -- I would know, I slaved away on the bleachers to watch your practice."

"I would know too, as I was slaving away on the field, actually doing physical work," Derek replied, smirking at Stiles' offended squawk.

"It is hard work having to go out to every practice to support you, okay? I swear my skin has never been this burnt and tender before." He rubbed the back of his neck for emphasis, feeling the slight prickle of a burn under his fingers.

They pulled up to the ice cream store and Derek looked over at him.

"I thought you always put sunscreen on whenever you come to watch."

Stiles didn't know how he knew that, but he liked to think it was 'cause Derek was always half practicing, half watching Stiles. But he had a point, Stiles did seem to continuously be applying sunscreen at every practice.

"I do, and yet I always end up roasty toasty."

Derek made a move to get out of the car, but Stiles frantically reached over and grabbed at his sleeve. He felt Derek's gaze on him but avoided eye contact as he played with the fabric of Derek's jacket.

"Uh . . . could we -- I promised my dad we'd get him an ice cream, and since we'll have to get it to him before it melts, could we just grab some ice cream then go back home and just . . . not be surrounded by people?" Stiles asked quietly. "After the day I had, I just kind of need to . . ." he struggled with the correct word but Derek intercepted.

"I get it," he said just as softly.

Stiles' gaze flickered up at him and his lips turned up slowly, a silent thank you. It felt natural to stay like that for a bit, silently watching each other. Stiles could feel the heat of Derek's arm underneath his hand and through the leather of the jacket. He could have stayed like that all day. Except then he felt the beginning of a blush crawling onto his cheeks and quickly looked away before Derek could notice it.

Stiles unlatched his fingers from Derek's sleeve, quickly smoothing it down before he clambered out of the car.

They got in line just before the evening rush came bustling in. Derek got mint with chocolate chips (so Scott was right when he said Derek had a thing for chocolate chips), while Stiles got his dad's flavor and then birthday cake flavor for himself. Stiles was a happy camper. It was almost enough to make him forget all about his shit-tastic day.

"Sooooo good," Stiles gushed as they got back into the car, happily bypassing the line that was now out the door. He balanced his dad's cup on his knee, very aware of the look Derek was giving him as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"You drop that, you're buying me a new car," he warned.

Stiles grinned obnoxiously at him. "Yes, dear."

He groaned again after taking another bite of ice cream. "I swear, whoever decided to put cake into ice cream was a genius. I hope they're off living a wonderful life with wonderful people."

"You're getting too attached to that ice cream."

"Am not."

"It's going to be gone in about 5 minutes."

Stiles gasped loudly, moving to cover his bowl. "Don't say things like that! It could hear you and get offended! You know, I'm thinking you're just jealous of the attention I'm giving it. There's a new man in my life. Called Cake Batter."

"So heartbroken," Derek agreed, taking a bite of his own ice cream.

Stiles watched as he got this happy little look on his face, his eyes growing softer and his mouth switching from its usual frown.

"Today's your cheat day, isn't it?" Stiles grinned.

Derek glanced at him as he took another bite.

"It might be."

"You're cute. It just takes a couple of chocolate chips to brighten your day."

The tips of Derek's ears went pink and Stiles cherished every moment of it, excitement rushing through his limbs. He was still chortling quietly to himself as they pulled up to the Stilinski house.

"Shut up, Stiles."

Derek was so freaking cute. How could anyone find him intimidating after discovering his secret love of chocolate chips?

Stiles threw open the front door and (gently and not at all begrudgingly) handed his dad the bowl of ice cream he requested. The sheriff dug into it, unashamed. He flashed his son a shit-eating grin and Stiles scowled, turning around to drag Derek back outside while announcing they were going for a walk.

The evening air was warm with a small breeze to it, which Stiles would have enjoyed if thoughts of Harris hadn't been poisoning his mind. It wasn't long into their walk before Stiles started going off about Harris and how "fucking, positively, absolutely" dick-headed he was. Ever since Stiles' first class with Harris in freshman year, he knew he would hate that teacher. And, alas, his gut feeling was correct.

All throughout his rant, Derek hummed and nodded where appropriate, never once telling Stiles to "shut up and man up", which Stiles appreciated beyond words. Yes, he tended to talk a lot, but sometimes he just needed to rant before he exploded.

They had long ditched their empty ice cream bowls by the time Stiles was finished.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the already messy strands.

"I just . . ." he began, frustrated.

He walked a few feet ahead and turned around, walking backwards while looking at Derek.

"With a high school like ours, why are people so surprised when we act out? That's not an actual question, by the way, so don't beat yourself up trying to find deep, meaningful answers to my philosophical questions."

"I heard you smashed your bike into coach's car after you failed one of his tests," Derek commented, clearly enjoying Stiles' affronted reaction. "Is that one of your ways of acting out against the school's system?"

"As if! You want to know the truth?"

Derek gestured for him to continue.

Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried to ignore the sudden flush of embarrassment.

"I already was assigned a detention, but then the morning of my detention, a moth landed on my bike and I hate, fucking hate, moths, so I was trying to wave it away from me when I accidentally ran into coach's car," he confessed. "But then everyone was all 'wow, he just hates coach, doesn't he?' and I didn't have the energy to correct everyone. Plus, people will think what they want. And the truth was also kind of embarrassing. Tell nobody!"

Lifting his hands in peace, Derek pursed his lips together to suppress the amused twitch of his mouth.

Stiles scoffed, though he could hardly contain his own smile. "Well, what about you, mister tough guy? I heard you sold your liver on the black market for a new set of speakers."

Derek looked down at his shoes and laughed. Stiles, who was still walking backwards, nearly tripped over his own feet. His steps faltered. He watched with wide eyes as Derek's eyes crinkled and his adorable front teeth stuck out like a bunny rabbit.

"I said that one time to a freshman girl who was trying desperately to get my attention," Derek explained, unaware of Stiles' awestruck gaze. He shrugged nonchalantly, pocketing his hands. "Apparently she figured the way to my heart was to prove how grown up she was by hosting a party, with, and I quote, 'epic amounts of alcohol', then inviting me to it."

"So you told her you couldn't go 'cause you sold your liver?"

Derek shrugged again, nodding once.

Now it was Stiles' turn to laugh, throwing his head back and resting his hand on his stomach. If he concentrated enough, he could almost feel a set of abs coming along quite nicely.

"Of all things . . ." Stiles shook his head fondly.

He flailed so suddenly it made Derek reach out a hand to stabilize him. Stiles continued as if nothing happened.

"I can just picture you, deadpanned expression, monotonously telling this frisky little girl something that scarred her for life. She's probably terrified of you now! Thinking if you were desperate enough, you'd start selling people, too."

"Well, I haven't seen her since," Derek said, considering. "Must have worked."

That set Stiles off cackling again. He sobered up rather quickly, feeling a rush of appreciation overcome him. He looked at Derek, just this side of awestruck.

"You know, I feel like you could technically date whoever, but you don't sell yourself short," he realized. "That's really admirable. I respect that."

The soft smile on Stiles' face mirrored Derek's, and they just kind of paused their walk to look at each other some more. Biting his lip, Stiles shuffled his feet and stepped to the side a bit, foot resting on the neighbor's lawn. There was hardly any time for an awkward silence to commence, seeing as how Stiles ended up setting off some sprinklers.

He squeaked and lunged back onto the sidewalk, but not without getting a huge spray of water right up his front while another sprinkler caught directly in the face. Coughing and spluttering, Stiles stood hunched in on himself to prevent his cold, wet t-shirt from touching his chest.

He glared at Derek, who sighed a very put-upon sigh, as if being with Stiles was a chore.

"Oh my goooooood, it's fucking cold!" Stiles complained. He looked down at his shirt and gasped once realizing his shirt had gone completely see-through. "My dignity!"

He moved to cover his nipples, already beginning to shiver. Derek shucked off his jacket, broad muscles flexing under the movement. He stepped over and carefully tucked Stiles into it, Stiles watching all the while. Derek began zipping it up while leaning in.

"Now, what did I tell you? It could get cold, so you bring a jacket," he said softly, just inches away from Stiles' face.

Stiles, meanwhile, felt like he was going to have a heart attack. The zipper slowly reached the top of the jacket, Derek's hand stopping just below Stiles' chin. Stiles' breath was coming out in short little puffs by this point. He wet his lips, eyes unconsciously dropping down to look at Derek's.

"Shit -- can I . . . can I --" he reached out hesitantly, fingers curling around the soft fabric of Derek's thin t-shirt.

He wouldn't move until Derek gave him permission. Except it turns out he didn't need to, since Derek was the one closing the distance between them, hand tilting Stiles' chin to press their lips gently but decisively together. Stiles was that much more grateful he was holding onto Derek, confident his legs would give out if he wasn't.

Stiles brought his free hand up to curl around the back of Derek's neck, using the other hand holding his shirt to reel him in. Derek parted his lips, taking Stiles' lower lip into his mouth and sucking gently.

Yep, Stiles was definitely going to pass out.

And of course he couldn't let the moment continue on without saying something.

He reluctantly pulled back but kept his hand on Derek's neck, idly stroking at the short hairs there. He chased Derek's lips for another quick, firm kiss before saying, completely breathless, "So, uh, is this a thing between us now?"

"I'm in if you are."

Stiles was fucking glowing. And when Derek hauled him back in and his tongue curled around Stiles', Stiles decided that yeah, he could get used to that.

-------------

"You're a fucking sap."

"And I fucking love you, dude," Stiles gushed, tugging Erica closer and squeezing his arms around her.

Erica couldn't hide that reluctant smile even if she tried. Stiles planted a kiss to her head and released her from his octopus grip as they made their way to the lacrosse field. It was the final practice before the season officially began. It was obvious the team was feeling the stress, Stiles noted, following Erica up the bleachers.

Derek was already chewing a guy out for doing whatever while Finstock could be seen as a little speck in the far distance, looking close to pulling his own hair out. Stiles couldn't make out what he was saying, but whatever it was didn't sound very teacher-appropriate.

"Man," Stiles exhaled, sitting down and stretching his legs out in front of him, "they're tense."

Erica hummed her agreement. "Boyd says they're up against West Heights for their first game. We've never won against 'em."

"Shit, that's a promising way to start the season."

They watched as Boyd and Scott went to fetch Finstock and nearly had to drag him back to the field. Derek made the kid he was yelling at drop down and start doing push-ups while the rest of the team scattered to their places, Finstock dragging his hands down his face before blowing the whistle to start the play.

Nerves and anxiety aside, they were looking pretty sharp. Scott had improved immensely, especially with his footing. No longer was he slipping and sliding all around the field, but he was able to keep pace with Jackson, of all people.

Stiles slipped out his phone, sending Derek a text for him to get later.

You've been training Scott, haven't you? Such a nice big brother <3.

He felt someone slip onto the bench beside him and he smiled, turning to greet Allison -- only to have his smile drop completely off his face once finding Kate there instead.

"What."

Kate smiled. "Aren't you a nice boyfriend. Coming out to watch every single one of Derek's practices."

Stiles could practically feel Erica buzzing with the suppressed need to cut a bitch.

Instead of joining Erica in her violent tendencies, Stiles plastered on a phony smile.

"That's me! Best boyfriend of the year award."

"Nah, that'd go to someone who wasn't getting paid for it," Kate replied easily, scanning the field.

That hurt. Stiles didn't realize that's how it looked like -- he was just using Derek for money. But it was so much more than that. Derek was snarky and impossible to impress, but he wasn't haughty and egotistical. He still managed to be humble in his confidence and he blushed so easily when you figured out the right things to say. And his love for chocolate chips -- what was up with that, it was adorable. He was well-rounded and intriguing and Stiles would easily want to date him even if he wasn't getting paid for it.

That realization was enough for Stiles to feel a chill run down his spine. He wouldn't be able to keep dating Derek without telling him about the Kate thing. Because sooner or later he was going to find out and Stiles preferred it to be sooner and have Derek break up with him and crush his heart so that Stiles didn't do it to him. Derek didn't deserve that.

"Anyway," Kate continued, turning back to Stiles. She handed him his latest payment and smacked him on the back. "Good job. Before you know it, Scott and Allison will be married and you'll have your jeep repaired."

She didn't let Stiles respond before she was hopping down the bleachers, waving coyly at Derek from where he was getting a drink of water.

He glared at her until she left, then sent Stiles a confused look, eyebrows furrowed. Stiles shrugged broadly enough for Derek to see, acting as if he had no idea why Kate just sat next to him.

All the while his heart was pounding in his chest and he was breaking out in a cold sweat. He was going to have to tell Derek. Shit.

He waited for the team's water break to be done before he dropped the cash, not even caring where it landed as he buried his face in his hands.

"Oh, kill me now," he moaned.

Erica picked up the money from where it had dropped and patted him on the back.

"Not yet, you have so much to live for," she deadpanned.

Stiles whipped his hands away from his face and spun toward her.

"Erica, I have to tell Derek," he proclaimed. "Like, I- I need to, I can't go on dates with him and start liking him even more if I'm just getting paid for it all -- that's shitty and low and I can't do it, I need to tell him."

"Whoa, slow down, Stiles," Erica held up her hands, resting them on his shoulders to get him to re-focus.

She breathed with him, forcing him to maintain eye-contact as they waited out what could have been a bad panic attack.

When Stiles' heartbeat was finally back to normal, Erica smoothed back his hair, holding his hand. Stiles closed his eyes at the feeling and continued to take deep breaths while Erica spoke slowly.

"You want to tell him because you're starting to really like him?" she clarified.

Stiles nodded wordlessly.

"And you feel bad because it feels like you're using him."

Another nod.

Erica exhaled loudly, running a hand through her hair. "Shit, how do you think you'll tell him? Can I help at all?"

Stiles sighed. He shook his head and stared down at his shoes. "I don't think so. I think I just need to come out and say it the next time we hang out."

Frowning sympathetically, Erica nodded slowly.

"When do you guys see each other next?"

"Toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight," Stiles groaned again.

"Okay, calm down. Just do it when it feels right. If the opportunity doesn't come up, don't push it. You'll end up in the hospital from asphyxiation. Just . . . when the timing is right . . . okay?"

Stiles was quiet for a moment, still concentrating on his breathing before he nodded slowly, "Okay."

Except that never happened. 'Tonight' turned into 'tomorrow', which turned into Stiles' abs aching from laughter as he tipped himself over on his bed to smother his face into his pillow beside Derek, who was capable of making Stiles laugh even while half asleep and this close to drooling into Stiles' pillow. There was something seriously wrong with this picture.

It was just that every time Stiles tried to bring it up, Derek would patiently look at him, or give him a barely-there smile, and it was just -- he looked happy. And Stiles didn't want to destroy that. He couldn't. Although he knew he had to.

Stiles hummed happily into his pillow, watching Derek's eyelids fluttering with the effort to stay open.

"You can sleep, you know," Stiles whispered.

"I have to drive home," Derek whispered back. His voice was deep and gravelly with sleep, and Stiles' heart filled with warmth at the sound

"Says who?"

"There's school tomorrow, dumbass."

Stiles pouted even though Derek's eyes were sealed shut. Gently reaching over, Stiles pushed Derek's hair back, letting his fingers drag through the soft strands before running the pads of his fingers along those cheekbones, thumb stopping on Derek's bottom lip.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Stiles whispered.

Derek hummed tiredly.

"I dare you."

Well, it's not like Stiles could refuse that challenge. He shimmied closer to Derek, neck stretching to place a soft kiss to his warm lips. Neither of them had the energy to take it any further; kissing soft and slow, memorizing the grooves and dips of each others mouths.

They only parted when Stiles' phone vibrated on the bed between them. Looking adorably ruffled, Derek drowsily lifted his head up to seek out the phone and handed it to Stiles.

"Better be hella important," Stiles grumbled, squinting his eyes at the harsh light of his phone. His face softened into a little smile after skimming Allison's text. It didn't require an immediate response, so he just sighed happily and tossed it back to the bed.

"Allison and Scott are kind of perfect together," he murmured.

There was a beat of silence before Derek uttered, "I don't like her."

Which took Stiles completely by surprise. It was one thing for everyone to just assume Derek Hale hated them. It was another thing for him to actually not like someone.

Now Stiles was interested. He propped himself up on his elbow, cheek in palm. "Why not?"

Derek honestly looked like he was asleep. With half of his face disappearing into Stiles' pillow and his lips slightly parted, he looked thoroughly knocked out. Apparently he was still sore all over from his last practice and once he finally allowed Stiles to work some of the tension out of his shoulder blades, he had slumped down onto the bed and hadn't moved since. Not that Stiles was complaining.

"She's an Argent," Derek finally slurred into the pillow.

Ahh, yes, Kate. Which brought Stiles' train of thought back to the mystery that was Derek and Kate. They hadn't actually dated before, right? Not when Derek was out and proud, and Kate had known this fact.

"Yeah, I get the feeling you and Kate don't exactly like each other," Stiles ventured carefully.

A little crease appeared between Derek's eyebrows and Stiles reached out a finger to flatten it away.

"Kind of the opposite," Derek sighed, which had Stiles' finger stilling and his blood chilling. Derek quickly opened his eyes and amended, "I mean on her side. I don't like her at all, except it's the total opposite for her." He rushed to correct himself and frowned once not finding the right words. He ended up just sighing again and starting all over.

"Kate had liked me for as long as I could remember. She was just always there, always a pain in my ass 'cause she was convinced we were destined to be together."

Stiles snorted.

"And when I came out, that seemed to make her even more determined. Except now she was saying things like how she was meant to be the one to turn me away from my sinful ways and shit, how she was meant to change me," Derek paused, choosing his next words carefully. ". . . I don't think you know this, but I had liked you for the longest time."

The confession made Stiles' heart pound, a smile quirking his lips upward.

"Really?"

Derek cracked an eye open and looked at him. "Yeah. Something about that 'I don't give a fuck' personality. . . . Kate had somehow found out and decided to prove that I wasn't suited for gay relationships and that they would all end in flames. She also tried to convince me that I was gay just because I hadn't had experience with a girl. One of her ways to persuade me was to drug me and sleep with me. Remember that date rape experience I mentioned at Lydia's party?"

Stiles nodded, finding it harder to breath with every word that passed Derek's lips.

"Yeah. That was her. So, let's just say, we don't get along."

"Shit, Derek," Stiles breathed, his voice barely there. His eyes were wide as he watched Derek's own eyes calmly slip shut again.

All the pieces were slowly falling into place. By paying him, Kate was using Stiles to try to convince Derek that gay relationships don't work out. Except how would she do that? As far as Stiles was concerned, he figured he and Derek were doing a pretty good job with their relationship so far.

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin when Derek's phone buzzed in his pocket. Derek woke from his temporary slumber to reach behind him and pull out his phone, frowning down at the text message.

"That's my cue. My mom just reminded me that curfew's in 15."

Stiles rubbed his face and followed Derek out of the room while trying to act as normal as possible.

"See? Now if you didn't live out in the middle of a haunted forest, you wouldn't have to leave so early," Stiles commented while Derek slipped on his shoes. "And then we could keep doing this." Stiles leaned in again so their lips met in a gentle brush.

Derek kissed him one last time before he slowly pulled back to slip his jacket on the rest of the way.

"The first lacrosse game is this Friday."

The unspoken invitation rang loudly in the quiet entryway.

Stiles pretended to think about it. He chewed his lower lip, pulling lightly at the fabric of Derek's shirt. Looking up from under his eyelashes, he finally replied coyly, "If I go, will I get to wear your team jacket?"

Derek huffed, rolling his eyes.

"What is it with you and that damn jacket?"

"It's a statement!" Stiles grinned, pulling Derek so they were chest-to-chest. He slid his hands over the grooves of Derek's stomach, brushing over his sides before finding Derek's back pockets to tuck his hands into.

"A statement," Derek repeated, unimpressed.

"Yup," Stiles chirped, placing a quick kiss to Derek's lips. Derek chased him back, reaching up to cup his face as he deepened the kiss, their lips gliding together smoothly.

Stiles pressed himself right up against Derek's front. He tugged Derek's lower lip into his mouth before pulling away briefly. "So, will I get the jacket?"

Now it was Derek's turn to pretend to think it over. He frowned in fake concentration, eyebrows furrowing. Stiles' eyes fluttered shut when Derek's thumbs started to lightly brush his cheeks.

"I don't know," Derek finally answered, "I'd have to really like you to do that."

Stiles reopened his eyes and sighed deeply.

"Dammit. Too bad you hate me."

"Too bad," Derek agreed. He placed a final, quick kiss on Stiles' nose before untangling their limbs. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Stiles could have sworn there were hearts in his eyes as he watched Derek walk to his car. Sighing happily, Stiles' eyes lingered on Derek's jeans. Damn. His hands were just in those pockets. Stiles had that privilege. He had to quickly stamp down on a very girlish sound that nearly slithered past his lips.

Once Derek's car lights had drifted out of sight, everything came crashing back to Stiles and he yanked out his phone to call Erica.

He barely gave her the opportunity to say 'hi' before he was word-vomiting all over her.

"Shit, Erica, shit! I know why Kate asked me to date Derek. It wasn't 'cause I'm all "bad ass" or whatever shit she was talking about, it's 'cause Derek liked me! Or still does. Or whatever. But she knew he had a soft spot for me and when he turned her down repeatedly, she went for me. She was gonna -- shit, I don't know. Going to somehow use me to show him that he was wrong all along in choosing me and that he should have gone with her-" Stiles stopped abruptly, the gears in his head shifting to put everything together. He dropped to the couch, staring wide-eyed at the dark TV.

"Shit, Erica," he said quietly. "She was going to tell him, wasn't she? That-that I was being paid to date him. She'd say shit like I wasn't interested in him actually. Fuck, Erica, it would crush him. He'd think we were mocking him behind his back and then she would get what she set out to do right from the beginning! She would prove that I was the wrong choice for him."

It was a lot to take in. Especially since Stiles was just thinking out loud for the most of it.

Finally, Erica exhaled sharply. "Shit, Stiles. Are you going to be okay?"

"Me?! It's Derek I'm worried about! What do I do? I have to be the one to tell him. Oh my god, Erica, I'm going to be sick," Stiles dangled his head between his legs and breathed deeply. His heart was thumping in his ears and he did not want to have a panic attack in his empty living room. He could distantly hear Erica's soothing voice walking through his breathing exercises with him.

He briefly noted he was mumbling nonsense under his breath. Soon enough, the fuzziness around his vision drained away and he was left feeling like a weak kitten.

"Oh my god, Erica, what did I get myself into?"

"Stiles, I stopped asking myself that a long time ago. You're always ending up in the worst situations," she commented. "Okay, so what's the plan? How are you going to tell him?"

"Tomorrow," Stiles said, confidently. "It has to- it has to be tomorrow. After school, I guess."

There was a pause on Erica's side as she sifted it through. Finally, she sighed. "Yeah, I guess that's the way to go. Tell me if you need me to do anything, got it?"

Stiles took a few deep breaths. "Got it," he whispered. He still felt a little shell-shocked from the whole thing.

It took a few more minutes of gentle coaxing from Erica for him to calm down fully and he felt like a walking corpse by the time they said their goodnights.

He ended up buried in a hoodie and sweats under his blankets by the time he forced himself to bed. It already felt like he had been dumped. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel once tomorrow came and went.

It turns out surviving off of 4 hours of sleep on a school day was a bad idea 100% of the time. Not that Stiles was very full of good ideas as of late. But regardless, he found himself slugging through the day looking and feeling like a drowned rat. He was wearing clothes too big for him and he was fairly certain half of his hair was sticking straight up. God, it was a bad day. He felt spectacularly hungover without the bonus of having had a great night of drinking.

By the time lunch rolled on by, Stiles was 300% done with everything and everyone. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of his locker, not even caring that his glasses were getting bent in the meantime. Yeah, he was actually wearing his glasses. If that didn't show the world how crappy he was feeling, he didn't know what would.

He startled when a warm hand crept onto his shoulder.

Derek looked torn between amusement and concern when Stiles rolled over so his back was to his locker instead.

He reached over and flattened Stiles' hair, then moved to readjust his glasses. He straightened out Stiles' hoodie and apparently decided he was more concerned than amused, if his frown was anything to go by. He ran his hands up and down Stiles' arms and Stiles was 2 seconds away from falling asleep.

Stiles let his head drop back against his locker, closing his weary eyes.

"You're too good for me," he muttered. He moved his head a bit further to give Derek more space as he nosed along the veins of Stiles' neck, placing sporadic, comforting kisses along the way.

"Everything alright?" Derek asked, pulling away just far enough to look Stiles in the eye. Except Stiles was looking everywhere but Derek because there was no way he could just come out and say 'actually, everything has turned to shit because you're amazing and I'm the biggest asshole around'. Actually . . . the more Stiles thought of it, the more he decided that that could be the perfect way to come clean about it all.

"Um -- no, it's-" Stiles exhaled sharply, slipping a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. Anything to distract him from the look of pure concern on Derek's face.

"Shit, Derek, I fucked up so badly," he confessed quietly, letting his head rest back against his locker again.

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. Stiles pointedly ignored the twitching of his fingers that ached to smooth out the line between his brows.

"What happened?"

Licking his lips, Stiles took a deep breath and ignored his thumping heart. "Uh -- I uh . . . I made this . . . kind of deal with Kate Argent," Derek stiffened and Stiles quickly looked to the floor as he rushed through the end of his speech. "She offered to pay me to go out with you and I, like an idiot, actually believed it was just because she wanted Allison and Scott to have the opportunity to date, since, you know, your mom's rule about him not dating until you do. So I thought she was trying to help them out and I agreed to try to date you and -- shit, I -- I didn't know you liked me and I didn't know she was going to twist this whole thing around and I didn't know I would end up liking you so damn much." If his voice broke at the end, Derek was gracious enough to not point it out. "So, yeah, basically this whole relationship thing was a lie and I've been getting money for spending time with you, as if you're some kind of chore and I'm the biggest dick ever, I know. . . . Shit."

He slipped out from between his locker and Derek and wouldn't say he ran to the nearest bathroom, but it was close enough. He locked himself up in a stall and didn't move, even after the warning bell and the late bell for next class echoed through the bathroom. He waited until his stomach had started growling, and students came and went, and the next bell for class rang, and the bell for the end of the day went. He waited until he could no longer hear voices in the hallway and waited until the look on Derek's face was no longer etched into his eyelids.

He shakily reached for his phone and dialed his dad's number. The loud ringing was harsh in Stiles' ear and he winced, leaning his head against the wall.

"Hey, kiddo, need to be picked up?"

Stiles squeezed his teeth together and shut his eyes.

"Y-yeah, I do."

He could practically feel his dad's frown.

"Do we need to talk?"

Stiles sniffled, surprised to find his eyes watering.

"Nah, dad-" he cleared his throat to make his voice stronger, "I'm uh . . . I'll be okay."

There was a considering pause on the sheriff's end and Stiles silently begged he wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Alright, son, I'll be leaving in 10."

Stiles nodded, whispering a brisk 'thanks' before hanging up and curling back up against the wall.

He pointedly ignored the texts on his phone from Erica, deciding he would need the next couple of days to spend in the solitude of his room with nothing but fatty foods and Netflix for company.

Which is what he did, no questions asked from his dad, surprisingly. Although, he was a really good cop and was probably able to put 2 and 2 together and figure out it was a Derek thing. It was best to leave that topic alone until Stiles was capable of even opening the door. It would be hard to 'talk it out' if it was just the sheriff talking at the closed door to a non-responsive son.

By the time Thursday rolled around, Stiles managed to accept a phone call from Erica, who bitched at him for a good 45 minutes about how selfish it was to drop off the face of the earth with no warning.

Once she calmed down, the rest of the conversation was just small talk. It was clear Erica was this close to bringing up Derek a few times, but backed out every time. It was probably for the best. Stiles still felt a little dead inside. It was the best relationship he had had. Albeit he was paid for it, but shit, he had all the money he made still sitting on his computer desk. He hadn't touched it. Couldn't, really. Especially now.

Stiles made up some half-assed excuse about being too tired to talk. Erica got the hint pretty quickly and wished him well before leaving him to sit in silence again. He stared at the computer screen paused in the middle of a whale documentary. He was kind of pathetic.

It took every bit of strength left in him to pick his phone up again. He squeezed his eyes shut, only cracking one open just slightly to scan the list of texts he had received. In his 4 days of silence, he had gathered a few texts from Erica, Boyd, a couple from Allison and Derek, one from Lydia -- and a few from Scott. Stiles was a proud supporter of the phrase 'ignore the problem until it goes away'. But this was Scott. Stiles' curiosity to see what he had to say overrode his desire to mope for the rest of his life.

He kept one eye squeezed shut as he read the texts.

'I did a mock exam w/Allison and got 80% dude!!! thx so much!!!'

'So i heard u very publicly slapped derek in the face before breaking up with him.'

'Which is probs a lie.'

'but derek looks miserable.'

'ok. i now know what happened.

'why aren't you talking to any of us????? Stiles this wasn't your fault.'

'we dont hate u.'

It was the last one that had Stiles furiously typing up a response.

'How can you not hate me for literally being paid to date Derek??? There were no feelings on my side whatsoever!'

Scott's instant response wasn't that much of a surprise.

'bullshit, dude. we all know how you feel about him. why else would you have told him?'

'WTF does that mean.'

'It means you care about him enough to tell him the truth. if you didn't care, you would still be using him for money. even derek can see that.'

Stiles glared at the phone and decided it wasn't deemed worthy enough to deserve a response.

Except Scott texted back after 5 minutes of silence on Stiles' side.

'Tell me, what did u buy with the money u got?'

Stiles glanced shiftily over at the money on his desk before scowling down at the phone. He didn't respond again.

'u still have it all, dont u?'

'Shut up Scott. Don't you have someone else to bother?'

'probably. but i like bothering u best xxx.'

So Scott apparently still had a heart of gold, even for someone like Stiles.

'Why aren't you yelling at me or some shit.'

'cuz I already told you, we all know u feel shitty enough. u like derek and i know you'd date him without being paid. i like you guys together.'

'Too bad he hates me.'

'he doesn't.'

'He totally does, dude, don't even try to lie.'

'he tried texting u a few times. apparently you've been ignoring everyone tho.'

'I don't feel like reading his texts about how much he hates me and all the things he hates about me, thankuverymuch.'

With that, Stiles tossed the phone aside and turned the volume up on his computer, drowning himself in whale facts for the next couple hours. It was around 1 am when he snuffled out of his light sleep to a vibrating on his bed. He made a few incoherent noises as he felt around his bed for his phone. He was temporarily distracted by turning off his computer, deciding he had finished binge-watching for the day. By the time he grabbed his phone, the vibrating had stopped, and the screen lit up with a notification that he had 1 new voice mail message.

Stiles glanced at the time before playing the message, drowsily face-planting back into his pillow as he let the answering machine play in his ear.

"I hate your addiction to Netflix," was the first thing Derek said in the message.

Stiles ripped the phone away from his ear as fast as he could, heart thumping wildly. Derek did hate him. He even made a whole message dedicated to it.

Feeling decidedly sadistic, Stiles pursed his lips together and forced himself to listen to the whole thing through.

"I hate how you always have sex hair. I hate the way you disrespect everybody and act like you own the world. I hate your dumb, worn out converse shoes and the way you inhale food. I hate how you swear like a sailor. I hate it when you stare. I hate the way you talk to me like a cocky little shit. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it that you're not around, and how you're now ignoring everyone. . . but mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. . . Not even close," Derek sighed, mumbling " . . . Shit, not even at all . . ."

Stiles waited with held breath 'til the very end, his heart soaring with hope even after the 'end of message' beep sounded. His vision was blurred with unshed tears and he laughed into his pillow. The whole situation was unbearably ridiculous. He replayed the message again and again until the clock on his side table said 2 am. And he smiled into his pillow, feeling warm and tingly all over and now he wouldn't be able to sleep for entirely new reasons.

He quickly opened the calendar on his phone. Derek's first game was tomorrow. Stiles was going to wear Derek's team jacket, even if it killed him.

--------

Stiles shifted from foot-to-foot in his spot beside the bleachers. The team was still in the locker room and students were slowly making their way onto the stands. Lydia gave him a reassuring wink while Allison smiled at him, both of them knowing why he was there.

Jackson reappeared in the doorway and scowled at Stiles.

"How the shit am I supposed to get the whole team out of the locker room and somehow keep Derek in there?" he demanded.

"I don't fucking know, dickwad, just do it!" Stiles snapped. "We had this conversation, like, 10 minutes ago. Why hasn't anything happened yet?"

"Because I don't know how to get Derek alone in the locker room, Stilinski! I just told you this!"

"I thought you were supposed to be the co-captain and actually be able to get shit done."

Jackson pursed his lips together and glared.

Stiles grinned like his life wasn't on the line.

"How about I get Derek out here. I can't do it the other way around. Good? Good." Jackson didn't wait for Stiles to answer before spinning on his heel and disappearing back into the locker room.

Stiles rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, tapping his foot anxiously against the grass. His vision switched from the locker room doors to the bleachers, which were filling up rather quickly.

He waited with baited breath until he heard the door squeak open from behind him. He looked over his shoulder and nearly lost his breath once making eye contact with Derek. God, those eyes. If this didn't go the way Stiles planned, he'd have to enjoy the color of Derek's eyes while he had the chance.

Derek was quiet, looking unimpressed and bored. He crossed his arms. Stiles hated it when he did that. It made him look more intimidating than the actual chocolate chip-lover he was.

Stiles flailed a hand out to gesture at Derek.

"What's with that? You're going to intimidate me to death?"

Derek frowned down at his arms, then turned that frown back to Stiles.

"Look, I . . ." Stiles tugged at his hair, accidentally making it messier. He noticed Derek's eyes flicker up to his hair before glaring even harder at Stiles, as if accusing him of purposely making his hair look like he had just had an enthusiastic round of sex. "Okay, this hair? Not my fault. And I know you secretly like it. And if this speech of mine goes the way I hope it will, you'll get to experience first-hand what my actual sex hair looks like. Hell, even I don't know what it looks like. It'll be a good experience."

The way Derek flushed didn't escape Stiles' notice.

"But I . . . I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for what I did. I'm kind of an asshole, but I figured everyone knew that already. And they did. Except it never really dawned on me how much of one I was until this whole situation. I disrespected your feelings and I just . . . I wasn't thinking clearly. I was going to use the money I got to buy a new transmission for my jeep, but I-I left the money on my desk this whole time 'cause I can't even touch it. I . . ." Stiles sighed, frustrated. "I like you. A lot. A lot, a lot. And I'm willing to give Kate a big 'fuck you' and give her money back if it means . . . I'll get another shot . . . with you."

Stiles finished and held his breath, pinching his lips together in anticipation. Derek's expression hadn't changed. He was still watching Stiles with hard eyes, eyebrows slanted downwards and mouth in a thin line. He unfolded his arms and -- walked away.

Stiles visibly deflated, physically, emotionally, mentally. In every way. He watched Derek disappear behind the locker room door and closed his eyes against the swarm of negative emotion that flooded through him.

He deserved that. As much as it hurt, he deserved it. And at least he tried.

After a few beats, Stiles nodded to himself and turned to walk to the bleachers. Derek might hate him, but Stiles was going to woo him all over again, dammit. Even if it meant he had to watch Derek's first game and suffer through the whole thing knowing he wouldn't be able to congratulate Derek personally after the game.

Before Stiles made it too far, the locker room door whipped open again and Stiles spun around, hopeful.

Except it was just the lacrosse team coming out to take their places on the bench.

Jackson sent him a look as he led the team out onto the field. Stiles tried not to feel like it was a punch to the gut.

Only, at the end of the line came Derek -- who should have been leading the group as captain and all. But Derek was at the end and he was looking at Stiles and in his hand was -.

Stiles beamed.

"It's about damn time you showed your ugly mug around here," Derek mumbled. He wrapped his team jacket around Stiles' shoulders, helping tuck Stiles' arms into the sleeves. Stiles finally got that damn team jacket. Derek tugged up the zipper and Stiles froze at the sense of deja vu.

"I don't hate you at all, either," Stiles said, whispered between them like a secret for only them to know.

Derek leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of Stiles' mouth.

"I know," he whispered back.

Stiles grinned, leaning in a bit more to kiss him again. He whispered his apologies over and over into Derek's mouth, reaching up to card his fingers through Derek's hair and man, did he ever think he wouldn't have the chance to do that again.

"I have a plan," Derek proposed, resting his forehead against Stiles'.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Let's have Kate think she's still on top. As far as I know, she has no idea you already told me about what she had planned. You'll be getting extra money on the side and when she stages her big 'reveal' to me, it'll backfire spectacularly."

Stiles' eyes widened, loving the plan a little too much. "Dude," he breathed, awestruck. "Can you imagine all the fancy dates we could go on with that money? All the condoms we could buy? You're ridiculously evil and I like you," he declared.

Finstock chose that wonderful moment to stretch out his neck to peer around the corner and bark, "Hale! I need your ass on the field, not trying to reproduce with Stilinski over there! You can keep trying but it's not going to work!"

Now it was Stiles' turn to blush, a deep red that painted his cheeks and made the freckles on his nose stand out.

Derek smirked at him, kissing him once more.

"Gotta go."

"Yeah, I'll catch you after the game, honeybunch."

Stiles grinned at the warning look Derek shot him on his way to the team bench.

Sighing happily, Stiles took his place on the bleachers beside Erica. He made eye-contact with Scott. Scott looked from Derek to Stiles, shooting him a grin and a thumbs up. Stiles couldn't help his answering smile. He raised his own thumb up at him, and Scott barked a laugh.

Stiles buried deeper into Derek's team jacket, inhaling the scent of his boyfriend. Stiles was a bit of an asshole, he admitted. But Derek was also kind of a dick and apparently dicks and assholes got along great when it came to gay relationships. They could totally make it work.