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“Dad, I literally just landed, can’t I sleep off the jetlag tonight and just come by the station tomorrow to say hi to everyone?”
Noah’s disappointed dad look had not gotten any softer in the past decade since Stiles had moved out of the house, and he felt the weight of it instantly. Stiles sighed, picking up his giant duffel bag and hefting it onto his back.
“Give me fifteen minutes to shower off the airplane stink,” Stiles said begrudgingly as he trudged up the familiar stairs, “and you better meet me down here with the biggest to-go cup of coffee you own, mister! One cream, one sugar!”
It was pretty amazing how everything in the house felt exactly the same, even after all these years. The main rooms and hallway were practically the same as they had always been: none of the decor had changed, the only furniture updates was the new la-z-boy his dad had in the den. The pictures going up the stairs were the same as ever (mostly ones that Claudia had hung herself years prior) with only a few newer ones added in here and there: Stiles’s college graduation, a scenic one of him posing in front of a glacier in Alaska, a spread of him and his photos in National Geographic, and a goofy one of him “holding up” the leaning tower of Pisa. Stiles was sure his dad had a ton of other photos of him that he’d shared over the years, plus thousands that he’d taken, so he wondered why Pisa and Alaska specifically had won wall space.
Similarly, when Stiles opened the door of his old bedroom, he felt like he was fifteen again. There was a lot less clutter, in general, than there had been when he was a teenager, but the room was exactly the same as it always had been. His bookshelf was full of old textbooks and graphic novels side-by-side, his lacrosse stick was propped in the corner, net ripped from the last game of his senior year. The desk was clear of its once-normal chaos, but that would be because the last time he stayed here was in college when he’d needed to study for his senior finals without disruption (which his roommates were prone to do), so that space had been prime real estate during that long weekend and had actually been cleared off of whatever else had been piled there over time.
Stiles dropped his bag onto the bed, unzipping it to let it fall open. He dug out a pair of anti-wrinkle slim khakis (a life saver for someone who lived practically out of their suitcase), simple blue striped button up, and underthings. He grabbed his bathroom kit and took the shirt into the bathroom, hanging it close to the shower so it would get steamed naturally while he cleaned up.
Stiles may have spent more time in the shower than he’d planned, but he really was tired and needed to wake up under the spray. The hot water turned his skin red as he scrubbed the nearly twenty-four hour travel smell off of him, the familiar feeling of the old shower’s water pressure soothing his sore muscles.
Eventually Stiles stumbled his way back down the stairs with his small go bag on his shoulder and he was immediately grateful to see that his dad had heeded his coffee plea. In fact, Noah was holding two coffee options: a mug that held a shot of espresso in one hand and a Beacon Hills Sheriff Department to-go mug that held more coffee that smelled divine.
“You are a god among men,” Stiles said in thanks, taking the mug and downing the espresso shot quickly. He sighed. “Did you get a fancy machine or something?” he continued, setting the now empty mug down on the table by the door to take care of later. He accepted the to-go cup and took a slower sip as he followed his dad out the front door.
“It was a Christmas present from the deputies a couple years back,” Noah said as he locked the front door behind them. “They realized that I was much more pleasant a half hour after my first cup of the day, so they bought it for me in hopes that I would start that timer before I even got to the station.”
Stiles chuckled, knowing that he had inherited that same trait from his father. “Smart deputies,” Stiles said. They climbed into Noah’s SUV cruiser and Stiles took another long drag of coffee. “I guess I’ll have to thank them tonight.”
Noah nodded. “Everybody’s excited to see you - the ones who knew you back when and the ones who you’ve never met but feel like they know you anyways. It’s really been too long, kid.”
Stiles stayed silent, agreeing with his dad but also standing by his choice of staying away from home for the last decade. He had a lot of growing up to do after college, and he knew that he couldn’t have done any of it if he was coming back to Beacon Hills constantly, where the community would always see him - and treat him - as the sheriff’s kid. The clean break had been healthy for him in more ways than one.
Of course, traveling for work had its perks and downfalls that were one in the same: Stiles was too busy to miss home and never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots.
But he loved his job. It wasn’t anything like what he’d expected when he was a kid (because back then, he was gonna be a deputy, just like his dad!), but when Noah had bought him his first camera after his mom died, Stiles had thrown himself into the art with a vengeance. By the time he’d hit high school, he’d submitted (anonymously) some photographs to contests in San Francisco and LA, and he eventually got a full ride to the Art Institute of Chicago to major in Photography with minors in Journalism and International Relations. Ever since then, he’d been traveling the world, shooting incredible people, places, and things that he’d never even dreamed of seeing.
But now, riding in the passenger seat of his dad’s cruiser on the way through Beacon Hills to the annual Sheriff’s Department Fundraiser, listening to his dad talk about the recent developments in town, Stiles almost felt like he’d never left.
His agency had pretty much insisted that he take a break, after the six month stint he’d spent in the Ukraine. It had been a hard stay there (both physically and emotionally), diving deep into people’s stories with his journalist partner on assignment Isaac Lahey, but it had been so worth it. They’d been in the thick of protests, towns torn apart by tragedy, and the war in general - enough that they were both sent home for mandatory leave to have a little bit of calm after the storm.
Stiles had fought the order for a while, asking for a laid-back NatGeo assignment or something instead of a mandatory vacation, but eventually he realized that the break was probably a good thing. He hadn’t slept in a bed that felt like home in a very, very long time.
It just so happened, though, that the day he landed was the day of the annual fundraiser for the station, and his dad couldn’t miss it. Not only that, but he’d also apparently told everyone that Stiles was coming home, so instead of sleeping off his jetlag like he desperately wanted to, Stiles was on his way to the silent auction. He just hoped it wasn’t going to be silent enough for him to rudely doze off in the middle of a conversation with anybody.
Stiles had nearly finished his coffee by the time Noah pulled into a parking spot at the high school, which was apparently where they were hosting the silent auction, so he chugged the rest of it and climbed out of the car. He let himself let out a full-body shake, bouncing up and down a few times to get the blood flowing before reaching back in the car for his go bag. He was incapable of going anywhere without his camera and a few basic pieces of equipment, apparently even when he wasn’t on assignment.
Noah chuckled at him and headed toward the door, Stiles trailing behind. The high school was another place he hadn’t been inside of for an even longer time than his house, and while it had obviously had some updates here and there, it was much the same as it always was. Stiles’s eyes took in the trophy cases along the front hallway, knowing that there weren’t any pictures of him in said cases, but there were probably dozens of images that he’d taken over the years. Some of the long hallways were dark, but Stiles and Noah followed the one lit hallway that led toward the gym, where streamers and balloons were decorating the way toward their event.
“Stiles!” they heard as they approached, and sure enough: the first person that Stiles saw was someone who’d changed his diapers.
“Tara,” he greeted with a smile, watching as the (now much older) deputy came around the sign-in table to give him a hug. He relaxed into her embrace, remembering a million hugs like this one over the years. “It’s good to see you; you look exactly the same as the last time I saw you.”
Tara swatted at him as she pulled out of the hug, smiling. “Oh, you. Quite the charmer, you handsome young man.”
Stiles gave a half-shrug and grinned at her. “I’ve learned how to shmooze. People tend to take the best photos when they’re comfortable.”
Tara nodded, looking past him at the next group of people coming to the sign-in. “I want to hear all your stories, Stiles. Make sure you find me later, yeah?”
He squeezed her arm and nodded. “I’ll definitely do that,” he promised, before stepping aside and following his dad inside. Noah held out a sticky name tag with STILES written on it. “Do I hafta wear a name tag, really?”
Noah gave him a look before taking the backing off and slapping the sticky tag on his chest himself. “Just because everyone here knows you doesn’t mean you don’t wear a name tag. Even I have a name tag.”
Stiles looked down at his dad’s badge, the large STILINSKI shiny against the gold. “Maybe you should put on a Noah name tag, see how many of your people have the guts to call you by your first name,” Stiles teased.
Noah rolled his eyes before heading for the drink table, abandoning Stiles to fend for himself. He didn’t mind much - it gave him the chance to glance around the gym and take in his bearings. He found his fingers already itching for his camera, but he wasn’t sure if he should get it out and start taking pictures without being asked, especially since he’d walked in the room literal seconds ago. He headed toward the auction tables instead, smiling at a few familiar and unfamiliar faces as he walked across the floor.
The gym was separated into two sections, divided in the center by a small stage and podium. One side held round tables for the dinner seating, with the buffet along the wall. The other side was all long tables on which the silent auction pieces were laid out. Stiles was impressed - there were probably a couple hundred items for people to bid on and as he wandered up and down the rows he saw everything from a Star Wars Lego toy set to a coupon for fresh baked bread from the Beacon Hills Bakery to a weekend getaway at a nearby lakehouse.
Stiles had perused his way through most of the tables, jotting down a few bids on things that perked his interest, before getting to the last row. This entire line of tables just held a long line of silent auction bidding papers, each underneath a gold name placard. Stiles frowned, looking around for some guidance of what was going on.
“It’s to bid on a date with a deputy,” a voice behind him said, and Stiles jumped. He turned to see a tall and broad, dark-skinned deputy whom he would guess was about his age. In the back of his mind, Stiles thought he should recognize who this was. Stiles glanced at his badge for a name - Boyd.
Stiles’s head cocked to one side as his mind whirred. “I know you,” he said hesitantly, squinting at Boyd’s face. “Did we go to school together?”
Boyd nodded, features softening. “Yeah, we did. Sorry, I guess I feel like we were always friends, with the way your dad always talks about you. Boyd, I was a year ahead of you here.” Boyd held his hand out for Stiles to shake, which he did. A few memories surfaced.
“You worked at the skating rink,” Stiles declared. Boyd nodded, giving a friendly smile.
“Sure did,” he confirmed. “It’s good to see you again; your dad’s excited to have you home for a while.”
Stiles chuckled, knowing that was one hundred percent fact. “Yeah, don’t I know it, it’s been the only thing I’ve been hearing about since I told him about it last week.” He turned back to look at the table of deputy names. “So what’s going on with this?”
Boyd sighed, but it was an amused one. “ Someone had the genius idea to do a sort of bachelor’s auction alongside the regular items,” he explained, “so all the deputies who are single - and even some of the married ones, actually - can be bid on for a date night. Some of us specified what we’d like to do for said date night, but others you can plan the activity.” Stiles and Boyd watched a middle-aged woman walk down the tables, obviously looking for someone’s name, before she found it and grabbed her pen. Boyd groaned. “Poor Hale’s gonna get stuck with some handsy cougar, but your dad wouldn’t let him take his name out of the ring. He’s probably gonna earn the most money out of all of us.”
Stiles watched the lady bounce away as he tried to think of who Hale was. The name sounded familiar, but just like Boyd’s, he wasn’t sure if he’d know the guy on the spot or if he knew him from school or just from passing conversations with his dad over the years. “Are you somewhere around here?” he asked, starting to wander down the table just to see Hale’s page.
Boyd followed along, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m married.” He offered his left hand as proof, wedding band shining in the light. “You might remember her - Erica nee-Reyes. She was in your class.”
“Blonde. Shy. We had a handful of classes together through the years.” Stiles stopped walking to face Boyd. “She had…”
“Epilepsy,” Boyd confirmed. “She’s doing alright, though. Her meds seem to work pretty well.”
Stiles nodded, smiling. “That’s really great, I’m glad to hear it.”
They were quiet as they approached the paper that the woman had just written her bid on, under the nameplate for D. Hale. Stiles’s eyes widened as he saw the price of her bid - Hale was well over five thousand dollars already, after a couple dozen bids, whereas most of the other deputies they’d passed were only between two and three hundred dollars. Boyd sighed, looking down at the paper.
“He’s gonna flip,” he muttered.
Stiles looked from Boyd’s face back to the paper, reading through the names. Sure enough, they were all women, and Stiles was pretty sure that a lot of these were the moms of some of his former classmates. He saw a few names of women that he knew were divorced, and he felt a little icky at the womens’ probable intentions, based on Boyd’s comments.
“Maybe someone chill will outbid them all,” Stiles offered. Boyd shook his head, looking around.
“Doubtful. Nobody ‘chill’ will spend that much money just to save the guy from the cougars. Plus, they’re on the prowl - no way one of them won’t end up with the last bid.”
Stiles followed Boyd’s line of sight to see a table of women eyeing them, as though they were guarding Hale’s bidding paper from afar.
Not cool.
Just then, a microphone squealed and Noah’s voice sounded over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served!”
Stiles stepped away from the bidding table, smiling at Boyd. “Let’s catch up sometime, yeah?” Stiles asked him, offering his hand to shake once more.
Boyd nodded and offered a smile as he took Stiles’s hand again. “Yeah, that would be great. Erica would love to see you, too.”
Stiles nodded before Boyd walked away, his eyes wandering across the crowd to see where his dad had gone. As Stiles looked around, he spotted another younger deputy he’d never seen before, and he was sure he’d remember this face. He was probably the most gorgeous guy Stiles had ever seen, his dark hair neatly combed and a perfect five o’clock shadow dusting his cheeks. He had old Mrs. Robinson on his arm and was smiling down at her as he carried her plate of food across the floor for her before getting her settled in her chair. She patted his face gently in thanks, and Stiles felt his heart melt a little at the fondness on the guy’s face.
Just as Stiles was considering going over to introduce himself, Noah clapped his hand on Stiles’s shoulder.
“Hungry?”
Stiles nodded, looking away from the handsome deputy. “Starving, and hopefully food will keep me awake. Let’s get you a nice, big salad, yeah?”
Stiles ended up sitting with his dad at a table of what he could only nickname “The Old Farts” of the department. Every single person sitting around the table had definitely changed Stiles’s diapers, and as such parental figures, he was inundated with question after question about his life since he’d left Beacon Hills.
Stiles could tell, as he talked and told stories, that they’d heard much of what he had to say already - his dad obviously had kept everyone abreast of his travels - but they listened with rapt attention and eager questions all the while. He could see the pride in their eyes alongside the emotion seeping into their words that proved how much they’d missed him.
It was nice, and Stiles was feeling awfully warm and fuzzy inside once they’d all cleaned their plates.
His fingers were itching by the time he set down his fork, though, so as conversation steered naturally away from Stiles and toward a debate of the merits of some of the younger deputies, Stiles stood. “I’m gonna take some publicity shots,” he said to his dad, wagging his eyebrows. “I’ll give you ten-k’s worth of photos for free, just for you Daddio.”
Noah chuckled, nodding. “Just don’t butt into anyone’s business too much, yeah?”
Stiles rolled his eyes, with a, “I would never !” but they both knew that Noah was remembering some of Stiles’s younger years, back when he would all but demand that people pose for him.
Stiles had settled into his art, though, and much preferred candid shots nowadays.
He slipped into his photographer persona instantly, becoming one with the camera and blending in with the background. Stiles made slow laps around the gym, capturing groups of people laughing, eating, bidding, and chatting. He got photos of the men and women in uniform looking both authoritative and friendly. He knew, once he’d edited the photos later, that these shots would end up being big, positive publicity for the department.
At one point, Stiles spotted his new friend Boyd chatting at the drink table with the handsome deputy who’d been escorting Mrs. Robinson earlier, and Stiles got lost for a few minutes taking some candid close-ups of the gorgeous man. With his camera, Stiles got lost playing with the way the light hit the kaleidoscope colors of the man’s eyes, and it wasn’t until someone accidentally bumped into him that Stiles realized how many photos he’d taken of the man.
Stiles blushed, turning away to continue his circuit of the room. It was then that he spotted the group of women from earlier, surrounding what he now knew was D. Hale’s bidding paper at the table.
He couldn’t help snapping a photo of the women, the group poised and looking extra vicious through his lens. A curl of a fight formed in his belly, and he bee-lined toward where Tara was standing at the auction’s main tables, a plan forming in his mind.
“The bidding closes in five minutes, ladies and gentlemen, five minutes.”
Stiles and Tara had been chatting for the last ten minutes, and in that time Stiles had learned even more gossip than he had at The Old Farts table. He could never have classified Tara with that group even if he probably should, especially since changing his diapers was a requirement to be an Old Fart.
Tara would forever remind him of his mom, though, and both women lived in his memories young and beautiful as ever.
Tara, as Stiles found out, was the one who’d organized this whole event, and when Stiles offered to assist her in collecting the bidding sheets when the auction officially closed, she jumped at the offer of help. As she regaled him with the story of Boyd’s first week on the job when he actually had to climb a tree to save a kitten, Stiles eyed the cougars making one final pass at the deputies’ bidding pages.
Finally Noah went to the microphone to end the auction, spurring Stiles and Tara into motion. As Noah began his general speech as sheriff, giving an update about the department as a whole and the plans they had for the money raised that night, Stiles and Tara moved around the tables to collect the pages.
Stiles headed for the deputies’ bidding table, collecting the pages as efficiently as possible, only glancing around once to check that everyone’s eyes were on his dad when he got to D. Hale’s paper.
It was now over eight thousand dollars, but Stiles didn’t worry about that. He picked the page up and moved on quickly, stacking everyone’s pages up neatly when he got to the end of the row.
Tara had already collected all of the other bidding pages and was delivering them to Noah to announce. She headed back for her table where the bidders would bring their payments before collecting their prizes and leaving.
Stiles stacked the deputy pages underneath Tara’s stack at Noah’s podium, rolling his eyes when Noah paused his speech to acknowledge him. “Oh, and did everyone see that my son is back in town? About time, don’t you think?”
There was scattered applause and laughter in the crowd and Stiles waved it away, hopping off the small stage and getting his camera in his hands again. He dissolved into the shadows once more, getting some frankly fantastic photos of his dad as he spoke to the crowd enthusiastically. Stiles was pleased to see that Noah was aging gracefully, even in the not-great lighting of the gym.
Finally Noah began to announce the winners of the bids, periodic applause and disappointed groans (with added laughter at the enthusiasm of a few winners and losers) fluttering around the room. Stiles took pictures of the winners’ smiles, getting one gorgeous shot of the handsome deputy letting out a full-belly laugh when Boyd won the spa day. (Stiles figured Boyd had bid on it as a gift for Erica, but Noah made sure to poke fun at the image of big, strong Boyd wearing a white fluffy robe with a creamy face mask and cucumber slices on his eyes.)
Eventually it was time to announce the winners of the deputy auction. Stiles felt some nerves coiling, but he kept himself behind his camera to continue taking photos of the bidders and their prizes - namely, the deputies they would be taking on a date.
Stiles noticed that some of the women who’d been swarming D. Hale’s bidding paper had also bid on other deputies - in fact, Stiles realized that a few of them were married to some of the older crowd who had thrown their hats in the game for fun. He felt a little bad for those deputies - a lot of those women had bid much lower on their own husbands than they’d bid for D. Hale. The highest price won so far was for $1200, and that was for sweet Martha, the deputy who’d been working the front desk at the station since before Stiles was born. One of the younger deputies was the one who’d bid on her, and Stiles could tell (through his camera) that it was because everyone adored her - Martha got a standing ovation as young Deputy Parrish escorted her across the front of the room and back to her seat.
As Noah began his introduction for the next deputy, the bidding paper in his hands made him pause. He looked over at Stiles, who immediately realized what was coming.
“Well, the next deputy we have up needs no introduction, because you all know and love him - no matter the broody glare he often sports,” Noah announced. Stiles noticed the handsome deputy rising from his seat, Boyd laughing heartily next to him as he started to sulk his way across the room. Stiles’s heart clenched - could D. Hale and the handsome deputy be one in the same? The handsome deputy had made his way to stand in front of Noah’s podium by now, standing at attention with a face ready for disappointment.
“The winner of a date night with Deputy Hale, for ten thousand dollars -”
The crowd gasped at the price, with it being so much more than any other bid of the night and D. Hale’s head shot up to look at Noah, obvious shock on his face. Stiles also maybe saw a hint of nerves, and he realized that Hale probably figured one of the cougars had bid that much to ensure a night with him.
“- is none other than my son, Stiles Stilinski. Come on up, Stiles, and claim your prize.” The crowd applauded as Stiles headed up toward the stage, letting his camera hang by its strap at his side. While he approached, Noah kept talking. “It seems that with this donation, perhaps the new shooting range will in fact be named after a Stilinski, but it won’t be after me.” Stiles blushed - surely his bid wouldn’t pay for the entirety of the new shooting range?
When Stiles made it to the front, he immediately held out a hand toward D. Hale. “Hey, Deputy Hale, I’m Stiles,” he said unnecessarily. Hale shook his hand, shock and confusion still on his face. “How do you feel about bowling?”
Noah leaned down toward them, hand covering the mic. “Stiles, I sure hope you have that 10K ready, because that table over there looks like they’re about to overthrow your bid.”
Stiles and Hale both followed Noah’s line of sight to see the table of cougars looking rabid. Stiles grinned, dropping Hale’s hand to send them a sarcastic double finger guns and an exaggerated wink. “Dad, you know me. I don’t spend anything I don’t have, and trust me - saving Hale here from that table is well worth the donation to the department.”
“Derek,” Stiles heard a voice say, and he turned to see that Hale was staring at him with a hint of a smile on his face. “You can call me Derek, and thank you .”
Stiles grinned, grabbing Derek’s arm and leading them toward where Tara was waiting for him to pay for his bid. “ Derek ,” Stiles repeated, loving the way the name fit the man beside him, “trust me, it’s my pleasure. So - bowling?”
Stiles pulled out his checkbook with a flourish and may or may not have winked obnoxiously once more at the cougars as he signed his name, enjoying every second of their sore-loser pouts. Derek stayed silently by his side even as Stiles headed back to where he’d been taking photos, a quiet and calm presence that Stiles was relishing in.
Stiles kept sneaking glances at him between taking photos, realizing the man was even more handsome up close. He tried to keep himself in check, though - the table of ladies who’d been bidding on Derek had probably only liked him for his looks and Stiles was not going to make the man feel uncomfortable around him for similar reasons.
When the last deputy bid had been announced and Noah thanked everyone for coming out, Stiles finally started taking apart his camera to pack away. Noah headed over to where they were, letting out a low chuckle.
“Sometimes you still surprise me, son,” he said to Stiles, giving Deputy Hale - Derek - a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Stiles just grinned. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Pops,” he said. “Plus, I feel like it’s gotta be civic duty saving Derek here from the cougars. What’s ten thousand dollars to a world-renowned photographer when it means I get to hang out with this probably awesome dude for an evening - and apparently fund your new shooting range while I’m at it?”
Noah chuckled and Derek just looked at Stiles with surprise and wonder on his face.
“Well, I’ve gotta stick around to make sure all this gets cleaned up, but I know you were tired -”
“I’ll take Stiles home,” Derek interrupted, before looking sheepishly at Noah. “Sorry, sir. I can take him home,” Derek looked hopefully at Stiles, “if he’d like.”
Stiles grinned, his insides doing some pretty complicated somersaults at Derek’s hopefulness. “I’d like that, yeah. Normally I’d say let’s go out for a drink or something, get to know each other before our bowling date, but I’m about to pass out from 24-plus hours of traveling.”
Noah nodded, pulling Stiles in by the shoulder to give him a quick hug. “I’ll try not to wake you when I get home, but we’ll do a big breakfast in the morning, yeah?”
Stiles grinned, the thought of breakfast with his dad sounding like heaven. “Sounds perfect. See ya in the morning, Dad.”
With that, Derek motioned toward the door and Stiles led the way out of the gym and down the hallway. They were quiet as they walked, and when they got outside Stiles took a deep breath and sighed, his exhaustion finally catching up to him in the calm of the night outside.
Derek led them over to his car - a very sexy Camaro that Stiles might have to drool over later on - and opened the door for Stiles in a gentlemanly move. Stiles flashed him a smile, sinking down into the seat.
Once Derek was pulling out of the parking lot, he spoke. “I can pay you back, you know,” he said quietly. “I appreciate you outbidding those women, they’re always on my back, and I can cover some of the costs of your bid.”
Stiles held a hand up to stop Derek’s words. “No way, man. It was seriously my pleasure to outbid them in the first place, but I’ve got the cash. It’s for a good cause, anyway - the department practically raised me.” Stiles looked over at Derek’s profile, lights flashing onto them as they passed cars and streetlamps. “Plus, I’m quite looking forward to getting to know you over our bowling excursion. We might even get some curly fries after - I go weak in the knees for curly fries.”
Derek glanced over at him, the beginning of a smile forming. “I’m kind of horrible at bowling,” he admitted.
Stiles grinned. “Good. We can’t all be good at everything, and seeing how you act when you lose will give me insight into who you are as a person.” Derek scoffed, his hands adjusting on the steering wheel as he turned on Stiles’s street. “I can already tell that I’m going to enjoy hanging out with you, so you better buckle up. Working with the senior Stilinski is nothing compared to hanging out with me - I’m chatty and tend to get attached pretty easily.”
Derek pulled up to the curb outside Stiles’s house, looking over at him with interest. To Stiles’s surprise, Derek gave him a complete once over from head to toe, blatantly checking him out. Stiles grinned even more, realizing that maybe his interest in Derek would be reciprocated.
“I can’t wait,” Derek said with a sly smirk, but Stiles could tell he was also serious. Stiles winked at him, hoping to come off casual even as his insides were bursting with anticipation.
“See you soon, Derek,” Stiles said before exiting the sexy, sexy car and heading to his front door. When he glanced back, Derek was still sitting there waiting, making sure he made it inside. Stiles gave him a small wave before disappearing inside and going straight for his bed, thinking of kaleidoscope eyes and hopeful for the future until he fell asleep.