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It started out as a joke.
Stiles had found the pack while digging through his desk, hoping to find the pages dedicated to sprites somewhere in the mess. Not bothering to actually look at what he was doing and instead just shuffle his hand through the miscellaneous items probably didn’t help with the search, but in his defense the monster of the week had been infringing on his personal time. He needed to get in his video games hours while researching whatever mythological creature had decided that Beacon Hills was the perfect spot to nest. He had lived here all of his life and he just didn’t get the appeal.
Momentarily distracted by the oncoming horde on his screen his hand paused; unconsciously gripping whatever it came into contact with. The part of his brain not currently occupied with decapitating his enemies wondered what it was, and before he thought it through he had raised the box out of his drawer.
Finally defeating the last of the horde, he leaned back and took in what he had grabbed. There it was on his desk; an old pack of crayons, the kind with more colors than anyone had the right to own. He had always been uninterested with the 12 packs as a child; if he couldn’t use at least five different shades of one color on his drawing, he quickly lost interest in the task.
Now, he wondered why he still owned them. He hadn’t colored anything since he was young, when he discovered that tasks that took time were too much to ask of him. He opened the pack, thinking he could donate them if they weren’t in too bad shape. Drawing a random color out of the pack, he read the name: “Leather Jacket”.
With a snort, he drew another, this one titled “Timberwolf”. An idea struck as he stared at the name; he could leave crayons around Derek’s loft, with the name being a clue to what he wanted to say. Imagining Derek’s scowl when he started finding them lying around everywhere made him almost flail out of his chair from his laughter, and he just had to do it.
It began simple enough; he left a Granny Smith Apple in the bowl that held Derek’s fruit. The fact that Derek actually shopped for food never stopped being hilarious to him. When that went unnoticed, he left a Pink Flamingo next to his keys, inspired by the neighbor’s unfortunate obsession with the plastic bird.
And on it went; when he wanted food he left an Eggplant crayon in the fridge. When Derek ignored him for a week straight after he got injured in a fight against brownies, he left Tumbleweed to signify the silent standoff.
It wasn’t until he walked into his room three weeks after the first crayon incident that he even got confirmation that Derek had found the crayons.
“Will you stop leaving crayons all over my loft?” Derek growled, stepping out of the shadows concealing his windowpane. Stiles jumped, somehow surprised by his presence even though Derek did this same entrance at least three times a week. Willing his heart to beat at a normal pace, Stiles walked to his desk, dropping down into his computer chair. Derek stared on, obviously waiting for an answer. Well, jokes on him; Stiles had no interest in stopping his game, especially now that Derek had acknowledged that he knew.
“Hello to you too, Sourwolf. How’s your day been? Mine’s been great, what with the supernatural showdowns every other day and Harris deciding that he hates me now more than ever. God, I can’t wait until this year is over so I never have to look at his smug face ever again. Maybe I’ll shove my middle finger into his face when I walk up to the stage at graduation…” he trailed off, already imagining with glee all the ways he could wreak havoc on Harris after his grades come in and he can’t do anything about it.
“Stiles!” and with this, Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face, somehow having moved closer to him without him realizing. Looking at Derek’s face, Stiles realized for the first time that he could name the various colors of his eyes; he could make out what looked almost exactly like his Forest Green crayon, a patch of Cerulean Blue next to the pupils. He shook himself, needing to look away before Derek figured out he had been staring.
“You know,” Derek began again, and this time when Stiles looked at him, he could see a faint smirk appearing on his lips, “If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask for it.” And with that he walked back to the window, leaving Stiles frozen, trying to contemplate what had just happened.
This time, it started as an accident.
After that night in his room, Stiles cornered Derek at the loft and demanded an explanation. After many unsuccessful attempts at getting Derek to talk about it, Stiles finally found out the truth; Derek had been interested in him, but had thought Stiles wanted nothing to do with him until the crayons. This lead to shouted revelations and exclamations about Derek being an idiot, but the talk concluded with Stiles stating that Derek and he were dating now and Derek was not allowed to take it back.
Now, four years later and with forever in front of them, Stiles was content. Their relationship was everything he could have wanted, and would only improve once he finished college at Berkeley. He missed Derek on the days when he was in class, and spent more time at the loft than he did at his dad’s house every weekend when he came home to visit.
On one such visit, he was looking for a pen to write down an assignment he had forgotten about. Searching through the loft, the only thing Stiles could find was the old box of crayons, confiscated by Derek to prevent him from leaving them around. Fishing one out at random, he wrote down the information and promptly forgot it on the counter as the rest of the pack began shuffling in.
The next night, Derek made him homemade macaroni and cheese. “What brought this on?” Stiles asked, reveling in how delicious it smelled. His apartment near campus was small and made cooking anything difficult. Derek hummed, satisfied with Stiles being near. Silence fell until Derek finally looked up.
“I found the crayon,” he stated, and when Stiles still looked confused he continued. “The one titled Macaroni and Cheese? I thought you left it to say you wanted me to make some for you.” Stiles took this in, and couldn’t help but smile at Derek’s faint blush. It never ceased to amaze him how thoughtful and attention Derek could be. “Apparently my subconscious speaks for me, because I definitely wanted macaroni and cheese, dude. How cool is that coincidence?”
It became another way for them to communicate after that, joining the Skype sessions, the never-ending texts, the white board reminders on Derek’s fridge. When Stiles wanted something sweet, he left a Brown Sugar crayon next to Derek’s wallet. He found a Heat Wave crayon in his swim trucks that Derek had conveniently left out when he wanted them to go to the beach to beat the heat.
Stiles suggested they take a trip to see the Grand Canyon by leaving the crayon with the name on Derek’s laptop. After he had gotten back to campus that night, he found a new text from Derek on his phone, with the picture of the crayon and a simple yes.
The crayons didn’t stop, and after awhile the pack made sure to look for any before sitting down or using anything in the loft. The most important message came one day after Stiles last final, when he came rushing back to Beacon Hills to promptly fall unconscious to recover from his senior year. He woke to the smell of coffee, and glanced to the left. Sitting there, illuminated by the light shining through the window, sat a Wisteria crayon and a deed to the house he and Derek had been talking about on the street with that same name. Smiling, Stiles sat up and made his way to the kitchen, vibrating with excitement at the thought of being with Derek forever.