Work Text:
“So,” Stiles says, slumping down in the chair across the cafeteria table from Derek. “You and me. Friday. Dinner and a movie.”
Derek chokes on his lima beans and drops his book.
“Two weeks of epic dating and then the biggest, loudest, most public breakup this school has ever seen,” Stiles barrel on. “It’s perfect.”
What.
“What?” Derek asks when he’s finally managed to subtly cough up the lima bean lodged in his throat.
“C’mon, you’ve gotta work with me, Derek,” Stiles whines, slumping forward against the table. “This plan is foolproof, but only if we make it real.”
“Start from the beginning,” Derek growls, completely and totally lost.
“Oh my god, you are so useless,” Stiles groans, scowling at Derek. “It’s like you want everyone to think we’re dating!”
“Start. From. The. Beginning,” Derek repeats, through clenched teeth.
“Right, so, your sister handed me two tickets to the new Captain America movie and told me to ‘hit that’ already. Your sister,” Stiles hisses, leaning even farther across the table.
“So? Free movie,” Derek replies, shrugging. “You’ve been going on about wanting to see it for ages anyway.”
“The movie isn’t the problem,” Stiles grouses, still scowling. “The problem is that, for some incomprehensible reason, everyone thinks we’re either dating, or that we should be.”
“Well maybe you should have thought of this before you decided to spend an entire year annoying me,” Derek grumbles, trying not to think about how much this is a non-issue to him. Even if they’re not dating, this at least means that no one else is going to try to date Stiles.
“Frienducing, Derek. Frienducing,” Stiles corrects with so much sincerity Derek kind of wants to bang his head against the table.
“And you wonder why people got the wrong idea,” Derek mutters glancing back down at his book.
“Hey! Don’t ignore me for the Han Dynasty!” Stiles squawks, reaching over to try and bat away Derek’s history textbook. “This is important!”
“How? People will think what they want to think,” Derek replies, shrugging. “There’s no use in spending all that effort to change things.”
“Uh huh, well, maybe you can get by in life not caring what people think, with your leather jacket and – and stupidly handsome face, but I can’t, okay? I can’t, because if everyone thinks I’m dating you, then Lydia Martin will never actually date me,” Stiles retorts.
Derek tries not to audibly growl as Stiles says The Name. It’s not even a pretty name. It’s average at best. At least ‘Derek’ means ‘ruler of the people.’
(Not that he’s bitter or anything. Lydia just doesn’t deserve Stiles’ reverence, no matter how often he caller her his ‘queen.’)
“Right, so,” Stiles continues, breaking Derek from his thoughts. “We date, we break up, Lydia Martin pets my hair as she comforts me after such a devastating heartbreak, and we continue being bros while Lydia realizes how much she loves me.”
“Wow, Stiles, you really are a genius,” Derek replies, deadpan, as he stabs another lima bean.
“Oh, ha ha. You just wait and see,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at Derek menacingly. “I just need to get her to notice me, and then it’ll be smooth sailing from there on out.”
“Right,” Derek mutters, glaring back down at his book. Stiles has certainly noticed him, and look how far that’s gotten him.
“So,” Stiles says, giving Derek a pointed look. “You, me. Friday. Dinner and a movie.”
“Only if you pay for dinner,” Derek finally answers, because he’s pathetic, desperate, and head over heels in love.
Fuck his life.
---
“My mom says you’re never supposed to eat spaghetti or pizza on the first date,” Derek says, as they sit down in a corner table at Lorenzo’s, a block away from the theater.
“Yeah, well, my mom used to say that spaghetti and pizza are perfect first date meals, because that way you can weed out the weak,” Stiles quips, scanning the menu even though it’s one of the only restaurants in town. Derek’s pretty sure he memorized the menu years ago.
“Weed out the weak?” Derek asks, quirking an eyebrow at Stiles.
“Yeah, well, if you can’t handle me eating spaghetti, then you sure as hell can’t handle the rest of me,” Stiles answers, peering over his menu and grinning. Derek can’t help but let out a snort at that. It’s true, after all.
“I send my condolences to your future wife,” Derek says.
“Or husband,” Stiles adds, surprising Derek slightly. “Because, you know, that’s legal now.”
“Did you seriously just come out to me while we’re on a fake date?” Derek asks, his head spinning as he replays Stiles words in his mind.
“Yeah, well, it’s not like you didn’t already know. I just didn’t explicitly say it,” Stiles mumbles, ducking back behind his menu, although Derek can still see that the tips of his ears are bright pink. “Anyway, no homo or whatever. No bi? Is that a thing?”
“Whatever,” Derek says evenly, eyes glued to the menu. “We’re just two queer guys on a completely platonic date.”
“Dude,” Stiles replies, his eyes wide. “Did you just – ”
“Shut up,” Derek snaps, his own cheeks heating as he carefully avoids Stiles’ gaze.
“This is so weird,” Stiles snorts, smiling awkwardly at Derek over the top of his menu.
“It could be weirder,” Derek replies, shrugging. “Like the time when – ”
“Dude, I thought we agreed never to mention that again!” Stiles hisses, glancing around the restaurant as if to make sure no one’s listening in on their conversation. “On pain of death, we said! Death, Derek!”
“Still, tonight’s not that weird,” Derek says. “I mean – ”
“Excuse me,” someone says, breaking into their conversation. “Would either of you like something to drink? Or an appetizer, maybe?”
“Sprite for me and ginger ale for him,” Stiles answers easily before Derek can so much as open his mouth.
“Alright,” the waitress says, nodding. “And do you two gentlemen know what you’d like to eat yet, or should I give you some more time?”
“We’ll split a pepperoni and mushroom pizza,” Derek replies, handing the waitress their menus.
“Coming right up!” she announces, sending the two of them a charming smile.
“Dereeeeek,” Stiles whines, planting his elbows on the table. “I hardly even got a chance to look at the menu!”
“You order the same thing every time,” Derek snorts, taking a sip of his water. “And you ordered my drink, so it’s only fair.”
“But that’s because you always – ” Stiles starts, Derek giving him a pointed look. “Okay, fine. I see your point. I was considering the lasagna, though.”
“Sure you were,” Derek replies, unconvinced.
“You suck,” Stiles mutters, pouting slightly.
“You wish,” Derek shoots back, enjoying the way Stiles’ cheeks turn a little pink.
When the pizza arrives, Stiles spills tomato sauce all down the front of his shirt and Derek couldn’t care less.
---
“Oh my god, that smells good,” Stiles moans as they enter the theater. Derek does his best to ignore it, but he’s pretty sure that the sound of Stiles moaning ‘oh my god’ has been permanently imprinted on his mind. “Popcorn, man.”
“It’s overpriced and tastes like cardboard,” Derek grumbles as Stiles all but drags him over to the snack counter.
“Salty, buttery cardboard,” Stiles corrects, digging around his pocket for his wallet.
“I should tell your dad about this,” Derek snorts as Stiles eagerly orders a tub of popcorn roughly the size of his head.
“You wouldn’t,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Derek.
“Is that a challenge?” Derek asks, quirking one eyebrow.
“Hey, I bought you dinner! Be nice to me,” Stiles replies, petulant, as he grabs his ridiculous popcorn tub.
“My sister bought the tickets,” Derek counters, following Stiles as he zips through the theater, trying to find the best seats. They’re a full twenty minutes early, so it’s not like he actually needs to move that quickly. Their options are far from limited.
“Riding around on Laura’s coattails. I see how it is,” Stiles laughs as he sinks down in his self-proclaimed ‘perfect’ seat.
Derek throws a piece of popcorn at him in retaliation.
“Hey! Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?” Stiles protests, and Derek’s pretty sure his heart skips a beat as Stiles calls him his ‘boyfriend.’
Not that any of this is real, of course.
“You’re a menace,” Derek snorts, stealing a handful of popcorn from Stiles and shoving it in his mouth to keep himself from saying anything stupid.
“But you love me anyway,” Stiles quips, nearly making Derek choke.
“So, what’s this movie about, again?” Derek asks, completely unsubtle in his change of topic. This, naturally, launches Stiles into a highly detailed explanation of a whole lot of comic book stuff which Derek can only vaguely understand. He nods along anyways and only shushes Stiles when the trailers start. The things he does for love.
The movie’s actually really good, which, quite honestly, is a lifesaver. Derek’s pretty sure that if it wasn’t so intriguing, he’d spend the majority of the time trying not to subtly put his arm around Stiles’ shoulders like some high school movie cliché. As it is, he spends way too long trying not to have a heart attack every time his hand and Stiles’ brush when they both go for popcorn at the same time.
And watching Stiles lick butter and salt off of his fingers is nothing short of torture.
“Holy shit, that was awesome!” Stiles exclaims, jittery with excitement as he bounds out into the lobby of the theater. “Ten out of ten, would watch again.”
“I liked it,” Derek says, nodding.
“No, dude, seriously. That was amazing,” Stiles announces, his eye bright with excitement and Derek can’t help but stare into them for far longer than necessary.
“Whatever you say, dear,” Derek sighs, rolling his eyes as he starts walking towards the exit.
“Oh, hey, wait! Derek!” Stiles calls, making Derek look back at him questioningly. Stiles, naturally, is making a beeline in the exact opposite direction. Derek sighs again and following him, like the dutiful fake-boyfriend he is.
They’re not even dating and he’s already whipped.
“We need to commemorate the experience!” Stiles announces, motioning toward an old-fashioned photo booth.
“We need to commemorate our first fake date?” Derek asks, frowning at Stiles.
“Hell yeah,” Stiles answers, nodding sincerely. “How else are we going to convince people that we were actually a thing?”
“I thought that the whole problem was that people already think we’re a thing,” Derek pointes out – not that he wouldn’t love to have some more pictures of Stiles.
“Fine, maybe I just want another photo of your ugly mug,” Stiles huffs, grabbing Derek by the wrist and pulling him into the photo booth. “Just go with it, you idiot.”
Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles enters what seems like an entire pocketful of loose change into the machine.
“Stop looking so grouchy,” Stiles complains, giving Derek his best puppy-dog expression. “This is supposed to be fun!”
“I hate having my photo taken,” Derek grumbles, still scowling. “I always look like a serial killer.”
“Yeah, well maybe you’d look better if you actually, you know, smiled,” Stiles counters, giving Derek a pointed look. “Now hurry up and look pretty.”
Derek does his best to smile, but he’s pretty sure he just looks constipated.
“Oh my god, these are great!” Stiles cackles when the machine finally spits out their photos. “Which ones do you want?”
“There are three,” Derek points out, frowning.
“Yeah, duh,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “So, which two?”
Derek studies them for a moment, trying not to grimace at his expressions. Stiles is cute, at least, but then again, when is he not?
“I’ll take the last one,” he finally says, pointing at it.
“Uh huh, and what else?” Stiles asks, looking at Derek expectantly.
“Just the last one,” Derek answers, shaking his head.
“You sure?” Stiles asks, frowning.
“Yeah,” Derek replies, and Stiles stares at him for a moment, his brow furrowed, but then he just shrugs and carefully tears off the final photo.
“I expect you to keep that with you everywhere you go, so that you’ll always have something to remember me by,” Stiles teases, mock-serious. Derek forces a snort of laughter, but he secretly knows that he’ll probably do it anyway.
He really is hopeless.
---
“Yo,” Stiles says, dropping down into the seat next to Derek in class a week later. “Can I borrow a dollar?”
“Why?” Derek asks, eying Stiles warily.
“Lydia and the robotics team are having a bake sale and I want to support them,” Stiles answers, giving Derek a pleading look.
“Fine,” Derek sighs, digging his wallet out of his pocket. “I expect you to actually pay me back, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. With interest and all that jazz,” Stiles replies, sending Derek a blinding grin. “Thanks, Der.”
Derek grumbles something unintelligible and tugs a dollar bill out of his wallet. However, the movement also dislodges another slip of paper, which falls to the floor.
“I’ve got it,” Stiles announces, reaching down.
Derek freezes, like a dear caught in the headlights of an oncoming car as Stiles picks up the photo and stares at it.
“Dude, you – you’ve been keeping this in your wallet?” he asks, his voice a little tense and squeaky.
“Um. I – ” Derek stutters, his cheeks heating.
“Oh my god, please date me,” Stiles blurts out.
What.
“What?” Derek asks, feeling utterly steamrolled and disoriented.
“I like you,” Stiles continues, ducking his head, his face steadily turning red. “I really, really like you and – ”
“What about Lydia?” Derek manages.
“I like you more,” Stiles mutters, his hands fiddling with the hem of his purple hoodie, “but I, uh, thought she was a little more obtainable, you know. Because you’re my friend, and, you know, I didn’t want to – ”
“So,” Derek interrupts, Stiles looking up at him in confusion. “You, me. Friday. Dinner and a movie.”
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles says, grinning.