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Stiles crouched against the tree, chest heaving as he packed snow for snowballs. He peered around the tree, trying to catch sight of his friends who were hiding somewhere close, their laughter muffled by the winter air. With a quick motion, he scooped up another handful of snow, shaping it precisely, his breath forming small clouds that quickly disappeared.
All too soon, there was a faint rustling nearby.
Gotcha, he thought, packing up his newly created projectiles. He sprang from behind the tree, launching snowballs toward the noise with a triumphant yell. However, they struck a large, broad chest instead of hitting one of his friends. He couldn't help but check the guy out, taking in the way his henley and jeans were stretched over his muscles—the fabric damp from snow since he wasn’t wearing a coat. Though he did wear a scarf. One with little oranges roaming across it in a whimsical pattern that seemed at odds with his rugged appearance.
And despite his lack of appropriate winter attire, the man didn't seem bothered by the cold at all.
Werewolf. An alpha if the flash of crimson in his eyes was any indication.
"Shit." Stiles threw his hands up in surrender, looking at the alpha werewolf with apologetic eyes. After a moment, he tugged on his coat in a nervous gesture. "Sorry, man, I thought you were someone else."
There was a scowl on the alpha's face, but then the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile, and a deep laugh rumbled from his throat, sending a chill down Stiles's spine—but not from fear.
Do. Not. Get. A. Boner.
Either the alpha didn't seem to notice the scent of Stiles's arousal, or he chose to ignore it because all he did was shake his head and brush off the snow as if it were mere dust.
"No harm done. My name's Derek," he said, his voice surprisingly warm.
Stiles cleared his throat and gave him a slightly awkward smile. Seriously, how was he supposed to think when Derek was a walking wet dream? The literal embodiment of the man of Stiles's dreams. "Stiles. My name. That's my—well, that's not my actual name, but it's what everyone calls me. Nice scarf, by the way. Are those oranges?"
Christ. Why the fuck was he rambling?
Oh right. Because Derek was ridiculously good-looking, like a Greek god who had decided to humor a mortal, turning Stiles into a nervous, babbling mess.
"Kumquats," Derek said, smirking as if he knew exactly what effect he had on Stiles. "So, Stiles…"
Kum-what? Fuck. The sound of his name coming out of Derek's mouth short-circuited his brain, rendering him speechless and unable to think. It was enough to make him melt into a puddle right there in the snow.
"This looks like a good game you've got going here. Mind if I join in?" Without waiting for an answer, Derek bent down, scooping up some snow and quickly forming his own snowball before throwing it at Stiles. It nailed him in the shoulder.
Stiles's mouth dropped open in shock before a grin quickly spread across his face.
"Oh, you're on!" he exclaimed, already reaching for more snow to retaliate. Derek fled and the pursuit was on.
The impromptu snowball fight that followed was one of the best Stiles had ever experienced. His friends eventually made their way over from wherever they had disappeared, joining in on the fun. Snowballs flew back and forth, and laughter and good-natured taunts filled the air.
Derek had quite the arm, his throws accurate and fast—not that Stiles expected anything less of an alpha werewolf—making him an exhilarating opponent. Stiles couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive, adrenaline surging through his veins with each dodge and throw.
When his friends had enough, Stiles stayed, not quite ready to end the spontaneous fun. Derek didn't leave either, the two of them launching more snowballs and laughs until the sky started to darken—the temperature dropping even more.
"Okay, okay!" Stiles laughed, finally calling for a temporary truce as he panted, hands on his knees from the exertion. Not that he really wanted to leave.
"Truce accepted...for now," Derek said, his breath visible in the crisp winter air. He extended a hand to help Stiles up, their fingers brushing. A current of electricity seemed to pass between them, making Stiles gasp.
Heat rushed to Stiles's cheek and not entirely from the cold. Still, he managed to scoff in mock indignation. "For now? Admit it. I gave you a run for your money."
"Not bad—for a human," Derek added with a teasing grin, and it was as if a kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken flight in Stiles's stomach.
Derek's charm was disarmingly potent, dislodging Stiles's usual ease of banter. With a slight chuckle—and despite the cold nipping at his nose—warmth bubbled inside him that had nothing to do with the fading winter sun still peeking over the horizon.
"Hey, Derek," Stiles started, gathering the courage to speak his mind. He wasn’t ready for their time together to end. Maybe they could head to the diner for dinner or the cafe for hot cocoa. "Do you think maybe you'd want to…"
His words hung in the air, unfinished. But only for a moment because Derek nodded as if he knew exactly what Stiles was going to ask. "Yeah, I'd like that."
The simplicity of his response, genuine and unaffected, sent a wave of relief through Stiles. It was refreshing not having to dance around with words or wonder about hidden meanings.
"Great," Stiles replied, a broad smile stretching across his face, the previous tension melting away like snow in the sun. "It's a date then."
Sure, he had casually thrown the word 'date' out there, but the way Derek's eyes lit up, a soft yet undeniable spark in their depths, told Stiles everything he needed to know. It was a silent affirmation that they were indeed on the same page.
The thrill of the chase, the play of the fight, all of it had been a prelude to this moment. And as the air filled with the promise of something new, Stiles couldn't help thinking this would be one hell of a winter.