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"I'd ask if you come here often, but I don't think you'd fall for that," a smooth British voice purrs out. It doesn't have a predatory twinge to it like others have when hitting on Stiles, but he jumps a little at the surprise.
He'd been immersed in the book on his lap, fingers picking at the edge of a scab on his elbow, doing research on Beacon Hills' latest creature of the month.
"I don't, actually, found this place when googling books on paranormal experiences. But no, that line definitely wouldn't have worked either. Gotta put in a little effort if you want a piece of this." He hasn't looked up, expecting the man to walk away, but is surprised when he crouches down in front of Stiles' face, pulling the edge of the book down until Stiles is looking at him.
"Deucalion?" His brows are scrunched up tight and the book is forgotten, tumbling to the floor in front of him. It's been literal years since Stiles saw the man, supposedly dead during the beginning of the hunters' war.
"You're not seeing a ghost, Stiles," Deucalion says, rolling his eyes. "Can you really blame a guy for wanting to get out of that nonsense? I'd already been through a war of sorts with Gerard in my youth, I didn't need another with the man."
"Guess that makes sense," Stiles grumbles. "What are you doing back, though? Talking to me, much less." He reaches down for the book, but Deucalion beats him to it before handing it over.
"Beacon Hills really was the most beautiful during the autumn months," Deucalion answers instead. "Would you like to join me for a tea? Perhaps a pumpkin spice latte, as your generation has invented?"
Deucalion extends a hand out to Stiles and raises his brows, indicating he should take the offer.
"Why?"
"I could smell your morose as soon as I walked in. You were an angsty teenager last I knew you, but you didn't smell like that back then. Knowing you would be unlikely to admit it, I thought you could use a break with some company."
Stiles just stares at him before shaking his head in disbelief, shrugging as he stands. He hasn't taken Deucalion's hand, but the man doesn't seem all that offended.
"I'm more of a gingerbread latte man myself," he adds, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Just hits the fall crispness perfectly, spices mingling with the cool air." His voice has grown sullen, and he knows Deucalion has to have noticed. "Haven't had one in a few years, though. Last fall wasn't particularly great."
"Care to expand?" Deucalion's voice is soft and his body warm as Stiles walks beside him, knuckles brushing as their arms swing.
Stiles lets out a heavy sigh before responding, sizing Deucalion up.
"I was in what I thought would be a lovely relationship, both of us happy and connected. When he invited me on a hayride, I was excited, it was going to be the first alone time we'd had in a while to just sit and be with each other, enjoy the weather in the lull between supernatural adventures." He stops then, making Deucalion turn when he realizes Stiles isn't moving forward with him anymore.
"But?" Deucalion prompts.
"But it was just a way to try and make me stay somewhat still while he broke up with me. He said we weren't compatible anymore and he was tired of putting on a show for my benefit." His head drops as he picks at his fingernails, a habit he's had since starting therapy post-nogitsune.
Deucalion lets the silence sit between them for a moment before he reaches his hand out again. His eyes find Stiles' and he gives a reassuring nod that Stiles decides to believe. When he takes his hand, Deucalion gives Stiles a small squeeze and pulls him forward, arm wrapping around his shoulders. He can sense the comfort rolling off the boy, and he feels a surge in his heart that he might be able to help rekindle the joy he used to have, especially during the greatest season of the year.
"What say we enjoy our drinks with a friendly stroll in the preserve? Get to see the trees in their autumnal glory?"
"I like the sound of that," Stiles says. "Also, the sound of you saying autumnal in that accent." He smirks up at Deucalion, squeezing his hand as they continue forward.