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“Excuse me,” a man says, looking down at Derek. “That’s my seat.”
Derek’s been taking a train to work for the past four years, and there are several things he knows about them; you don’t talk to strangers, if there are no seats then you shut up and stand, and only the luxury sections have reserved seating. Now, while Derek normally takes a different train, today he’s visiting Laura and this is his train, and this is his seat, and he is most certainly not getting out of it. Especially because he may not have noticed that there was gum on it till he sat down, and there’s no way he’s standing on a train full of people with pink bubblegum stuck to his ass.
Rather than explaining all that to this random jerk, he says, “I was here first,” and goes back to reading his newspaper.
“Um, no,” the guys says, and his voice conveys that he’s struggling to keep his cool. Which, really, is ridiculous. “I was here first.”
“Really?” Derek asks, setting the paper in his lap and raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Because I could’ve sworn I sat here three stops ago, and haven’t moved since.”
Looking at him now, Derek is annoyed to see how cute the guy is. His hair is dark, his eyes are a bright whiskey color, and parts of his face and neck are covered in little moles. It would be a lot easier to argue with someone who isn’t exactly his type. The universe is really out to get him today.
“Listen,” the man says. “I am having a shitty, shitty day, and you’re sitting in my seat, and I need you to get up.”
Normally Derek might comply just to make the guy go away, but again, he’s sitting in gum, so, no. He’s just going to have to deal with it.
“There are no other seats,” Derek points out, glancing around the train.
“Which is why I want that one.”
“Which is why I want this one.”
“Okay, well, it’s mine. I ride this train at this exact time every single day, and this is my seat.” He grabs the shoulder of a blonde woman wearing a gold necklace that readsErica, sitting two rows down, who’s watching them not-so-surreptitiously. “You ride this train a lot. Is that not always my seat?”
“It is,” she says, smirking a little. “But he was there first.”
“Ugh,” he groans, turning back to Derek. “That doesn’t mean anything. It’s mine.”
“I don’t see your name on it,” Derek says, which might be a bit childish, but so is this guy. Maybe it’s the way to get through to him.
“Fine,” he says, pulling off his backpack and digging through it till he produces a black Sharpie. He leans down, and when Derek moves the tiniest bit to the right to avoid the marker, he scrawls his name onto the back of Derek’s chair. “Now you do.”
“Well, Stiles,” Derek says, craning his neck to read the name. “I believe that’s called vandalism.”
“Call a cop,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Preferably from a payphone, as far away from this seat as possible.”
“Maybe I will,” Derek says, picking his paper up again in a vain attempt to get back into the sports section.
“Good luck,” Stiles says, actually snatching the paper and tossing it over his shoulder. Derek is too surprised to be angry. “My dad’s the sheriff.”
Derek’s about to point out that that really doesn’t legalize his behavior, when the man suddenly turns around and plops himself down on Derek’s lap.
Derek’s eyes shoot wide open, and the blonde woman laughs.
“Are you insane?” Derek manages to get out, trying to decide if this is actually happening.
“Nope, just stubborn. I told you, I’m having a terrible day, and I’m sitting in my seat one way or another.”
“You are insane,” Derek decides. “This is- I’m calling the police.”
“Go. Ahead.”
Stiles, apparently, really does think his dad can get him out of anything, or he has some serious nerve.
Derek really might call the cops, except A) his phone is in his back pocket, and he doesn’t want to get up, or to wriggle around with this guy on his lap, B) he cannot imagine a more awkward conversation to have on a train full of people than, hello, yes, your boss’ full grown son is sitting on my lap and I don’t like it, please come remove him, even though we’re on a moving train, and C) maybe, maybe Derek doesn’t 100% dislike it. Which, okay, he’ll admit sounds really creepy, but the guy is sort of cute in an asshole kind of way, and it’s definitely creepier that Stiles sat on him in the first place.
Stiles pulls out his own phone and actually starts texting somebody, and for whatever reason, that’s what offends Derek.
“What’re you doing?” he demands.
“Texting.”
“On my lap?”
“What do you want me to do? Hold a conversation with you? Tell you what I want for Christmas?”
Instead of being a normal person and saying, ‘I want you to get the hell off of me,’ Derek’s mouth decides, completely of its own accord, to say, “Well it would be polite.”
Stiles laughs loudly, his mouth forming an obnoxious O as his body rocks on Derek’s lap, which- oh. Oh. Derek needs that to stop right this second, and he grabs Stiles shoulders to still him, then quickly drops his hands.
“I think we’re about ten miles past polite,” Stiles says, smirking wickedly. “Ten miles, atleast. But fine, jerk, what’s your name?”
“Jerk? You’re sitting on my lap,” Derek says pointedly.
“So, fine, I’m also a jerk. But I asked your name.”
“Derek,” Derek finds himself saying.
“Nice to meet you, Derek,” Stiles says, sticking out a hand.
Derek doesn’t shake it.
“Am I being Punk’d?” he asks seriously, making Stiles laugh again. “Stop that.”
“What?”
“Rocking,” Derek says, cheeks heating up a little. “Stop it.”
Stiles’ eyes go wide, as though he’d only just realized the implications of him sitting in another man’s lap, and actually has the grace to look embarrassed for a second.
“Whoops, sorry dude,” he says, edging closer to Derek’s knees. “That was actually not me being an ass; that was an accident.”
“No, still an ass,” Derek grumbles.
“Yeah, whatever. You try getting shut down at a job interview for the fourth time this month, and having some random guy on the train steal your seat, and then being all happy about it.”
“You try getting dragged to a family reunion, and having some random guy on the train steal your lap,” Derek says, and Stiles smirks again, which is way cuter than it should be. “And maybe they turned you down because you have no concept of personal space. Did you try sitting on the interviewer when he said no? Maybe that would’ve helped.”
Stiles looks like he’s trying really hard to scowl, but Derek can tell he wants to smile. It’s a little funny, that he’s trying to brighten this guy’s day. And by funny, of course, he means really freaking weird.
“You’re kind of cute, when you’re mean,” Stiles says, winking.
That really shouldn’t embarrass Derek, because the guy is already—and has he mentioned this yet?—sitting on top of him, but it does.
Before he has a chance to respond, maybe say that Stiles is kind of cute himself, the PA crackles to life and announces the next stop.
“That’s me,” Stiles says, looking almost disappointed as the train slows. “Hey,” he says, fishing the marker back out of his bag’s side pocket. “Can I give you my number?”
“Oh, that you need permission for?”
Stiles bites his lip, and Derek relents. “Joking. Go for it, I guess,” he says, letting Stiles grab his hand and scrawl a number across his palm.
“Call me, maybe?” Stiles says, finally standing and heading toward the door.
Derek nods, and Stiles grins.
“See you around, Derek!” he calls, stepping outside. Right before the doors close, he adds, “Just not in my seat!”
Derek, with bubblegum stuck to his ass, managed to pick up an invasive, unemployed, adorable stranger on the train.
Oh, Laura’s going to love this one.