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Never one to back down from a dare, Stiles snuck along the fence running around the lacrosse field. The lights were off, making it easy to cross the expanse undetected. The Mission Impossible theme song kept running through his head as he ducked underneath the bleachers when he heard a sound from the trees to his left. Holding his breath, he studied the treeline. He thought he saw the shadows move, so he ducked back underneath the seats.
When there was no further movement from the trees, he hurried out from underneath the bleachers. The next obstacle was the parking lot which still had a few lights shining. The only lights shining in the school’s windows were the emergency lights. They kept running twenty-four hours a day. He spotted the janitor’s car in the parking lot but knew the old man had completed the main school building and was working on the overflow buildings. He would be easy to evade even when he came back inside at the end of the night.
Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the set of keys he kept hidden from his father. There were far too many unsuspecting adults in this town and an easy-to-use key-making machine in the Sheriff’s station. Stiles could get into any part of the school, and the Sheriff’s station, with ease. He hadn’t used the keys since graduation, had considered passing them onto that Liam kid that had followed Scott around like a lost puppy, but knew he would never put them to proper use.
As he made his way to the window to Harris’ classroom that was never fixed, he peeked inside before pulling it open and scrambling inside. He could’ve used the keys, but that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as what he had just done; the keys had just been a safety net in case anyone had ever gotten around to proper building management. He sincerely hoped his father didn’t find out what he was up to that night, or he wouldn’t hesitate to arrest him, son or not.
He picked his phone up to facetime Scott. “Dude,” he hissed when Scott shouted out a greeting. His friend was far drunker than he was. “I’m in.”
“That’s awesome!” Scott shouted. “I can’t believe you did it! Now get it! Go! Go! Go!”
Stiles hung up the phone, not wanting to get caught because the one who had given him the dare couldn’t keep his voice down. Shaking his head, he moved to the door and pulled it open, squinting into the hall and freezing when he saw light coming from underneath that door of what used to be Mr. Yukimura’s history classroom.
Stiles was pretty sure he’d retired after Kira had graduated and moved on to teach at a high school near where she’d gone to college. Of course, Stiles was out of the loop on the local gossip since he’d been away at college for six years and then another year internship abroad with a computer company. Tonight was his welcome home party, and it devolved into a game of truth or dare like none of them had ever grown up.
Tiptoeing into the hallway, he made his way to the door with the light underneath. He peeked over the edge of the window and froze when he saw that the room was no longer a history classroom. Tables pushed up against the windows replaced the desks from Stiles' memory. Easels and stools sat throughout the room. A raised stage took up the center of the room. A stool sat on top where he assumed whatever the students were drawing would be displayed.
Currently, a man sat on the stool dressed in grey slacks and a white button-up. The shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a white tank top beneath it. He’d rolled the sleeves up to display impressive forearms that were dusted with charcoal from the stick the man was using to sketch something that Stiles couldn’t see from that angle.
Soft music was playing in the background, something classical, possibly Debussy. His hands moved in rhythm with the music. The sight captivated Stiles. Stiles was so enthralled that he didn’t hear the janitor entering the hallway until he let out a shout. The man in the room raised his head, eyes wild like he’d been pulled out of a different universe.
“What are you doing here?” the janitor shouted, and Stiles’ brain shut down.
The man in the room stood from the stool and crossed the room, sketchpad hanging loosely in one hand as he pulled open the classroom door. “There you are,” he said to Stiles, who did an excellent impression of a fish as he got a good look at the man’s face, and his brain finally processed what he’d said.
“Here I am,” Stiles responded, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice.
“You know this guy, Mr. Hale?” the janitor asked.
“Yeah, Freddie. He was modeling for me and had to use the restroom. He must’ve gotten lost in the dark coming back,” Mr. Hale explained, and Stiles nodded and allowed Mr. Hale to pull him into the classroom. “We’ll be heading out shortly. I guess time got away from me.”
“It always does,” Freddie said with an indulgent look on his weathered face. “You need to get more rest and food.”
“Stop acting like my father,” Mr. Hale said, his smile just as fond. “Good night.”
“Good night. Sorry to have scared you, young man,” Freddie said to Stiles, who waved him off and turned his attention to the artwork displayed throughout the room, ignoring whatever further conversation the other two were having.
Stiles heard the door to the classroom closed, and he turned to find the man slipping on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made his green eyes even larger. He rubbed a hand over his chin, adding charcoal to his already black beard. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but the man held up a finger and tilted his head, listening. A door closed down the hall, and he dropped his hand.
“I’m Derek,” he said, reaching out a hand. Stiles took it and then looked down at the charcoal that had transferred over to him. Derek chuckled and grabbed a rag off a small table by the stool where he’d been sitting. “Sorry about that. Hazard of the job.”
“I’m surprised your shirt is still white,” Stiles said. Derek looked down at it and then at his hand, using it to leave a track of black on the fabric. “Okay, then.”
“You going to tell me who you are and why you’re wandering around a high school drunk in the middle of the night?” Derek asked, turning to pull off the buttondown and tossing it towards a duffle bag near the front of the classroom.
“Well, the drunk part has a lot to do with it, actually,” Stiles said, feeling embarrassed at having his lifelong best friend egg him into acting like a child. He could only imagine what a man like Derek thought of his behavior.
“Not surprised. Being drunk has that effect on people,” he said, returning to the stool and picking up his sketchpad again, flipping to another page. He started drawing again while Stiles continued exploring the room. His fingers touched everything his eyes fell on, smiling at the different textures of various art projects.
“I used to go to school here,” he said.
“Same,” Derek responded, and Stiles looked at him in surprise.
“Derek Hale,” he mumbled to himself before his eyes widened. “You were a senior when I was a freshman! Your family…” He trailed off and began calculating how quickly he could get across the room and out the door. He’d even risk his father catching and arresting him if it meant getting away from the faux pas he’d just committed.
“Yeah,” Derek said, his voice thick, and Stiles felt even worse. What kind of asshole was he to even begin to mention the house fire that had killed a majority of Derek’s family. “It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t get easier,” Stiles muttered, still eyeing the door.
“I’m not going to stop you from leaving. You can stop acting like a scared animal,” Derek said, glancing up with a smirk on his face.
That startled a chuckle out of Stiles, who felt himself relax. He could handle sass. Moving closer, he tried to see what Derek was drawing, but he tilted the sketchpad toward his chest and gave Stiles a dry look. “Okay, you’re one of those artists.” Derek gave a small snort and returned to drawing once Stiles’ attention was drawn away. “Anyway, I moved back to town for the first time in six years, and my best friend threw a welcome back party.”
“And you got so bored you ran away to hide out in your old high school?” Derek asked. His head shot up, and he glanced past Stiles to the door. “You don’t have a girl hidden out there somewhere? Break into the school for some risqué relations?”
Stiles slapped his hands over his cheeks to hide the heat there, but Derek’s grin grew broader. “First off, stay out of my sexual fantasies. Second, it would definitely not be a girl.”
Derek’s eyebrows rose, his smile fading into a smirk that did interesting things to Stiles’ libido. “Not a girl, huh?” he asked, rising from the stool and setting the sketchpad facedown on it. “Are you sure you still want me to get out of your sexual fantasies?”
He moved until he was in Stiles’ personal space, their chests brushing. Stiles audibly swallowed and stared into Derek’s green eyes for a moment until they both burst into laughter. Stiles put a hand on Derek’s chest to keep his balance while the laughter shook both of their bodies. “We were this close,” Stiles said, holding his hand up, his finger and thumb nearly touching. He smacked Derek in the chest with the same hand. “You had to get cheesy on me!”
“You’re the one whose sexual fantasies come straight out of bad porn,” Derek argued as he stepped away from Stiles to begin cleaning up. “We should get out of here before Freddie comes back.”
“It’s a bit scary how well he plays along every time,” Stiles replied as he picked up Derek’s sketchbook and wiggled his eyebrows at the intimate caricature that Derek had been drawing of the two of them.
Derek sighed. “I know way too much about his sex life with his wife. There are some things you just can’t unknow.” They both shuddered because Derek had shared the information with Stiles since he was primarily responsible for him finding out in the first place.
They started cleaning up the room. Derek stuffed his dirty shirt in the duffle and pulled out a clean henley, pulling it over his head. He laughed when Stiles whimpered. “So, how deep were you?”
“Pretty much had myself convinced I was twenty-four again and breaking into the school on a dare,” Stiles responded. “It helped that I called Scott, and he was too drunk to realize I was in the school and not his house.”
“Why would you be in his house?” Derek asked, shouldering his duffle and doing a quick doublecheck of the room.
“Eh, he forgot his wedding ring after he washed his hands and wanted me to get it before Allison found out,” Stiles said. “He’s too drunk to realize Allison was right there when he told me.”
They shared a laugh as they locked up the classroom with Stiles’ keys. “Do you think we’ll ever end up having sex in your classroom?” Stiles asked wistfully.
Smiling, Derek wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him to his side. “Who knows, but we can keep trying.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “For now, let’s keep it to the bedroom.”
“Spoilsport,” he said, grinning, already planning the next time they played this game.