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Derek doesn't have a crush on No First Name, Just Call Me Stiles Stilinski. No matter what Laura says. Stiles is the conductor, it's his job to watch him. He's supposed to look. If he maybe also stares when Stiles is working with the brass section instead of leafing through his sheet music (like that McCall guy) well. He’s just being professional, that’s all. He doesn't need to make notes, because he remembers what he needs to do and he prepares his materials beforehand, so he can pay proper attention.
And if he sometimes doesn't listen to what Stiles actually says and just watches the way his arms wave around, the way he constantly bounces on his toes, his mouth....Well no one’s the wiser and to be honest, nobody cares what the brass section does anyway, not even the brass section.
So Derek definitely doesn't have a crush, but he may, maybe, possibly be a little bit interested in getting to know Stiles (biblically, Laura's voice snickers in his head) better. Or at all.
And maybe he just hasn't had a good opportunity to approach him (because you’re a chicken....Derek really just needs to block Laura's number), but that doesn't mean he couldn't. If he wanted to.
He just needs to wait for a good moment, so it makes sense for him to watch their conductor’s routine, covertly, so he can find out when he can maybe casually start up a conversation with him.
There isn't anything creepy about looking at Stiles in the cafeteria, either. Everybody’s there at lunch time, and if Derek happens to glance in the right direction...And maybe he watches at rehearsals, but, again, he’s supposed to pay attention to him there. And his hands. And this one mole on his cheek that is slightly off centre that he just wants to lick.
If he stares at him every evening when he gets into his slightly beat up Jeep, well he is just trying to look out for Stiles. Anything could happen. It's not like he followed him home. At least not more than once. If after that he found a grocery store in the direction of Stiles' house that had his favourite brand of peanut butter cookies, well everybody has a weakness.
Glaring at Ms. Lydia I'm Too Talented For All Of You Martin is par for the course. It has nothing to do and in fact only accidentally coincides with Stiles fawning over her.
So maybe Derek is around a lot, but it's not like Stiles notices. He's being discreet and subtle with his investigation into Stiles Stilinski. Who is walking around the corner with his back to him talking to concertmaster McCall and resident star tenor Mahealani.
“So, hey guys, you’d tell me if Derek wanted to kill me, right? 'Cause I know he’s the best in the country and a big part of our reputation comes from him, though of course Lydia is just as responsible. Anyway you wouldn't let me get axe murdered just to keep your paycheck, right? Don't look at me like I'm crazy, he's everywhere and he just keeps staring at me. Like he wants to stab me.. Why are you laughing, Danny? Is my imminent death that funny to you, just what...”
Oh.
Well, crap.
Stiles doesn't want to die. Okay, he's maybe being a little dramatic, but he thinks the situation warrants some hyperbole (and seriously, what's the point in working in the arts if you can't be dramatic now and then?)
He doesn't even know what he's done to Derek – by comparison, he knows exactly what he's done to make Jackson glare at him. Even though whatever, everyone else is super thankful that he scored Scott for the theatre by virtue of being his childhood friend. He'll just have to live with being second concertmaster instead of first.
But somewhere along the way he must’ve stepped on Derek's toes. The unrelenting glares, the brooding, the inexplicable silences in his direction and especially the weird stalking tell him so. Stiles knows himself well enough to know that the possibility of him having pissed off Derek by accident is very high, probably by acting like a total spazz in his presence.
Because Stiles and gorgeous people don't go together and he had naively thought he'd grow out of this inclination to develop crushes on inappropriate and unattainable people, but apparently that was too much to hope for.
Asking his friends to find out the cause for the animosity is a spectacular failure. Scott just looks kind of confused and then wants to talk about Isaac and Allison some more, Allison pats him on the back and tells him that ‘everything’s going to work out’, which--what? Longer exposure to his best friend has made her weird.
Boyd and Erica just smirk at him. In unison. Stiles is convinced practising this is all those two do on their dates, because that just can't be natural. Lydia gives him this particular condescending look she only uses if she thinks he is being especially pathetic and she can't even be bothered to mock him about it. Stiles doesn’t even want to think about that particular injustice. Danny’s even worse: he tells Stiles that he won’t give out sex tips and to be safe.
And Isaac just gives Stiles his patented befuddled look and somehow manages to wrangle Stiles' last cookie away with it. Pairing up with Scott has made him deadly, Stiles only hopes Allison will use her new powers responsibly.
All this tells him is that he needs better friends, which is supported by the fact that Jackson, who Stiles had been refusing to tell about his problem, runs up to him for -as far as Stiles can see – the express purpose of laughing in his face.
“Well, that sure was helpful.” Stiles mutters to himself. Maybe I can bake him a cake or something. Everybody likes cakes and he makes a mean peach pecan pie. But what if he doesn't like peaches? Or he's allergic to nuts? What if Stiles kills their star viola player because he shouldn't be allowed into social situations without a chaperone? And who even has a star viola player? Their orchestra must be the only one in the entire state. It's like having a unicorn. A constantly angry unicorn.
“Stiles,” comes a voice from behind him. He whirls around and there is the subject of his thoughts in all his glaring glory. Stiles had been pretty deep in thought, and the combination of Derek suddenly appearing behind him – Jesus, his heart – and Derek's stupid face so close without Stiles being able to prepare himself, well.
“Hey Derek, fancy seeing you here, aren't you too early? String rehearsals don't start for another hour. But then, I guess, you need to do all of your crazy meticulous prep at some point.” There you are, babbling, old friend, he thinks. I was wondering when you’d show up.
“Don't think I haven't noticed how very, very prepared you always are. Not that I'm, uh, noticing you in particular. I just notice. Things. Because that’s my job, as your conductor. In which I get paid for paying attention to all the small details. Like that twitch in your jaw, which you seem to have developed in the last minute, cause, whoa that really doesn't look healthy.”
Oh my god, I need to find an off switch to my mouth. At some point Stiles will learn how to not utterly humiliate himself in front of people he likes, but today doesn't seem to be that day. Derek looks more and more agitated, clenching and releasing his fists.
“Do you like peaches?” Stiles finally asks out of utter desperation just as Derek opens his mouth.
“I wa- What?” Derek says, Stiles can hear his thoughts painfully shift gears.
“Peaches? Do you like them? 'Cause it's peach time and I, for one, love peaches. I'm always looking forward to this time of the year, when you can get the really good ones,” is he seriously talking about peaches, someone put him out of his misery, please,
“Peaches are awesome. The texture, the taste--even though all the juice gets everywhere, though the mess is totally worth it in my opinion,” and wow, now Derek just looks sort of dazed, “So, what, come on, dude, everyone likes peaches.”
“I, I don't mind them, I guess. But that wasn't...” Derek trails off, crunching his eyebrows together. Stiles bites his tongue, because even though he normally can't shut up, curiosity does it for him now, because if he didn't know any better he'd say Derek looks like a mix of determined, cornered and nervous.
Though the determination seems to vanish and being nervous seems to transform into fucking terrified the longer they stand there. Finally, Derek sends him one of the downright filthiest glares, and not the good kind, he has ever been on the receiving end of, clenches his fist even more tightly and stamps off.
As much as Stiles is curious about what that had been about his sense of self preservations finally kicks in and he manages to avoid Derek for the rest of the day. It makes rehearsals beyond awkward though.
He can feel those eyes on him the whole time and it makes him drop his stick four times which earns him the second filthy glare of the day, because Lydia does not appreciate being interrupted in the middle of Addio, del passato bei sogni ridenti, thank you very much. Seriously, what is up with him and being attracted to terrifying people. He likes to blame his dad, clearly being the sheriff's son has wrought dire consequences upon Stiles.
Sometimes, Stiles guesses, discretion really is the better part of valour as he sneaks out the door and escapes in his trusty Jeep, feeling Derek's eyes on him the whole time.
It should not be this complicated to ask someone out on a date. People do it all the time, McCall’s managed it. Twice. He's not going to lose to McCall, damnit, sometimes he can't believe the guy made it through high school.
He may have frozen on his first attempt yesterday, but that wasn't fully his fault. Confronted with the mental visual of Stiles all sticky, moaning around a peach combined with the reality of Stiles being Stiles – interesting, always in motion, beautiful, vibrant, alive, everything Derek really, really isn't – well his old insecurities and doubts raised their ugly heads.
They were always around, but had basically emotionally crippled him after...After. (Why should he even try, he isn't good enough for someone so special, so defiantly himself, what does he have to give someone like that).
So he made a tactical retreat. To re-group (shut up, Laura). But he got himself together. Having Laura keep her laughter contained long enough to calm him down over the phone helped. He wasn't this person any more, Kate's poison would not forever infect any relationship he found himself in, he promised his sister (his mother's grave).
But every time Derek’s tried to catch Stiles afterwards, Stiles seemed to be in involved conversations with other people. Leaving Derek with just rehearsals, trying to communicate “don't go straight home” through his eyes to Stiles. But unfortunately all Laura’s teasing about Derek’s telepathic eyebrows is apparently (definitely) untrue, because Derek could only watch as Stiles jumped into his Jeep and drove off.
But today is a new day, he will ask Stiles out.
He had even been desperate enough to ask Laura for advice – the sex he is hopefully going to get out of this whole venture, better be worth the humiliation. But who’s he kidding, getting Stiles to smile at him just once will make any mockery from his sister worth it – though she had only chuckled.
“Just try not to terrify him this time. I know you don't like to hear it, but that face is going to net you at least one date, so don't stress out so much.”
Though Derek doubts the truth of Laura's reassuring words – surely Stiles gets more than enough offers, it is kind of true that he needs to get a grip. Stiles apparently already finds him intimidating, he needs to put him at ease in some way.
To that end, Derek has come prepared. He went out yesterday and bought the best looking peaches he could find. Because he listens.
Finding Stiles proves to be the first hurdle once again. Derek has gotten his schedule weeks ago, but he isn't where he is supposed to be. He finally finds him in the cafeteria talking to McCall. It's now or never, but he can't....he needs to speak with him alone.
“McCall, Lahey is looking for you,” Derek says. This should do the trick, the thing with them is new enough for McCall to be up and running. Sure enough, he's up before Stiles can say anything, though he seems to be trying to – catch his sleeve, looking forlornly after his friend. Derek doesn't pay much attention to him as he passes by, but for a second it looks like he gives him a covert thumbs up? What.
“Derek, Derek! So nice to see you, uh, but I have to, uh, do something…in my office!” Stiles says nervously, bouncing on his toes.
“You still have time till your meeting with Finstock in an hour.” And maybe he shouldn't admit to knowing Stiles' schedule as intimately, but what done is is done and this is important.
“Oookay,” Stiles says dubiously, “I don't think I want to know how you know that,” oh, well done Derek, scare him some more, “but I still need to prepare, you know how he is. So, I'm just going to...go now.”
This chance is slipping through his fingers fast, he needs to stop Stiles from leaving. He knew Laura was full of shit, Stiles isn't even looking straight at him, his face can't be that appealing. So he panics, bars the exit and thrusts the bag of peaches in his hand forward.
Stiles rears back, trips and crashes into the chairs behind him.
Derek looks at him, and maybe his inner voices were actually right for once and he shouldn't be around anyone for too long. He can't even ask someone out on a date without injuring them.
“Oh, fuck, ouch.” Stiles groans and there is blood on his lip where he bit it and a tiny scratch on his forehead. Derek knows he should apologize, help him up, but he just stops. It suddenly all seems so pointless.
Stiles is clearly terrified of him. Why the fuck would he even want to be friends with Derek, let alone date him? It doesn't make sense to gamble his heart on such a hopeless situation. He drops the peaches next to Stiles and leaves.
He tells himself he isn't running away. He’s only finally learning to stop making fucking stupid mistakes just because he can't seem to control his naïve heart.
Getting up after experiencing crushing humiliation may be something he is used to, but it's never fun. He needs to do it, after all Derek had been right, he has a meeting today. But it's not for another hour, so Stiles feels entitled to just lay there for a bit wallowing in his misery and nursing his bruised pride.
Why, oh why must he always be his most spazzy in front of people he likes and wants to impress? His crush on Derek must be worse than he thought, he hasn't flailed hard enough to crush into furniture since high school, when he tried to ask Lydia to the prom.
Derek’s apparently given up on Stiles, seeing as he just left without a word, not that Stiles can blame him. At least he didn't mock him, and left him in peace with his embarrassment – Lydia wasn't half as nice.
It's just... having Derek there, alone with him in the half-lit cafeteria’s, looking as breathtakingly perfect as always and with this light in his eyes, that determination he saw yesterday, too. It looked so promising, inviting, it made his heart beat faster till he was sure Derek could hear it. He couldn't concentrate on a conversation if those stupid eyes were looking directly into his, he had even tried to avoid looking at Derek.
So he wouldn't make a fool of himself, actually, but yeah, no luck on that front.
It's time to get up and shake yourself out of this little pity party. He frees himself from the clutches of the furniture around him – evil, evil chairs always getting him into trouble – nursing his lip, when he suddenly feels something squishy under his hand.
“What the..” Stiles says looking at his hand. There on the ground is a bag of peaches.
A bag of fucking peaches and from the looks of it perfectly ripe, delectable peaches. For a second he thinks this is the universes way of apologizing to him via delicious fruit, till the actual, if not less fantastical reason comes to him.
Which is that Derek bought him peaches.
Derek engineered a talk with just the two of them and apparently brought peaches. After he had thoughtlessly word vomited about their relative value the day before.
Best viola player of his generation, model-hot, broody wet dream Derek Hale has bought him peaches.
Peaches of good quality, which he needed to have put in some effort to acquire, because Stiles knows what supermarket peaches look like, and these are definitely not supermarket peaches.
Stiles’ brain is kind of stuck on a Derek bought him peaches loop. Because the only reason he can think of for this unexpected gift? Offering? Is so unrealistic and smacks so much of wish fulfilment that he can't really look at it straight.
But he keeps coming back to it, because as unreal as it seems, it looks like Derek likes him. Likes him likes him.
“Oh my God, Derek Hale likes me.” Stiles says, because he needs to hear it out loud. It still sounds patently untrue and like a fantasy so he tries again. “Hottie Derek Hale likes me.” It still doesn't compute, but the peaches in his hand agree with him.
It's not even only his looks that make this seem unreal, even though that is plenty. What really attracted him to Derek were the flashes of personality under his facade. His dry humour and the way his eyes twinkle when Stiles tells an awesome joke. The way he seems so harsh, but is so very gentle with any new members, trying to make them feel welcome.
Stiles can't be the only one who sees that, because it makes him so desperate he can't breathe sometimes. Desperate to get close to him, to be the one to make him laugh, to be there for every gentle moment and every shared joke. It makes him want and wish and ache to be that close to Derek.
Suddenly this is transported from the realm of fantasy and dreams into reality. And it is fucking terrifying. What if he read this wrong? And what if he read it right and he screws it up like he always does?
Still, Stiles knows he needs to find Derek. Everything will be clearer once he sees him, he can't not talk about it now that he knows. He can't wait until tomorrow, he can't go to the rehearsals this afternoon and have Derek sitting in front of him and be expected to work.
He needs to find him and he needs to find him now before his bravado runs out.
If I were a broody hot guy wanting to be alone and angsting at myself, where would I go? It's a rhetorical question. There’s literally only one place Derek goes when he wants to unwind – Derek's wording – or stare tragically at the universe - Stiles' phrasing.
Sure enough when he comes closer to one of the bigger practice rooms they sometimes use for quartet rehearsals he can already hear the viola. Opening the doors quietly he just takes him in for a second. Because even though Derek is never going to fly under the radar, it’s always been his playing when he thinks he's alone that had made Stiles sit up and take notice. Because it is still the most beautifully mournful thing he has ever seen and heard.
He takes a deep breath. Stiles Stilinski has never let himself be kept from what he wants because he is afraid and he’s certainly not going to start now.
Derek plays different things depending on his mood. And even though he probably should be practising Bruch, because that’s what’s on this season’s schedule, today he needs something else.
He opts for Bartok. Bartok's concert has such a furious edge to it and he needs something that is desperate and hopeless and unfinished right now.
People always want to know how Derek got so good at this, and he’s never sure just what to tell them. He’s always just...played. When the emotions became overwhelming. When he didn't know how to say what he knew he needed to communicate and it made frustration well up inside him until he wanted to hit something.
The viola was his safety net, because it may not be as fragile as a flute, but it still was fragile. It wouldn't break at the first sign of pressure, but he still needed to be careful. Especially ...After, it was so hard and nearly impossible and important to be careful with something.
He is just finishing up for a bit when he hears the door close and he whirls around.
“That is beautiful, I may try to convince the powers that be to incorporate this into the plan for next season.” Stiles says. He comes closer and in the half-light he looks almost ethereal, his brown eyes reflecting the light like a creature out of myth.
No, he can't do this right now, he is too close to his emotions, everything is always at the surface after he loses himself in the music, he can't deal with this right now.
“What is it?” he demands harshly. He needs Stiles to go, at least until he has himself under control again. He feels the urge to cry, something he has never done easily, but he remembers being a teenager, having such strong emotions, emotions that ruled his actions and thoughts too easily.
“I, I just,” Stiles looks taken aback, like he’s reconsidering whatever he wanted to say. He sends a short look at the door. Good.
But then he seems to shake himself out of whatever thoughts just crossed his mind, squares shoulders and comes even closer. Stiles stops just in front of him, way in his personal space. He has never done that before, normally it is always Derek that forgets himself and leans closer than he means to, closer than he should.
It is mesmerizing seeing Stiles from this close up, without him flinching away.
“You bought me peaches.” Stiles says, confusing Derek, who finally notices the bag Stiles has in his clenched fingers. “You bought me peaches and I think we should go on a date and you should maybe kiss me now.”
And...that’s unexpected.
Stiles seems to take his silence the wrong way, because he’s talking again: “Or not. I mean you obviously don’t have to...I mean, Oh my god this was such a stupid idea, I knew this was too good to be true. I'm just going to go now, can we maybe just forget this ever happened..” backing out of his personal space and Derek can't have that at all.
So he follows him, gets even closer, because he liked that and Stiles seemed to want to give it to him, he can't just take it away again. Stiles' mouth is frozen, half open and Derek can't help staring at it. But he can't move, he can't move, and he should, because against all odds Stiles has made the first move, has admitted to wanting to go out on a date.
He needs to move, he needs to close those final centimetres between their mouths, but he can't and it makes frustration sweep through him, hot and familiar.
But Stiles suddenly gets this soft look on his face, smiling faintly, looking so happy for some reason and before Derek can try to reason why Stiles is moving even closer and sealing their lips together.
Kissing Stiles is everything Derek had hoped for, but still nothing he could have imagined. His lips are chapped a bit, still tasting faintly metallic though they stopped bleeding. Stiles is leading the kiss, a confusing mixture of hungry and careful. It’s driving Derek out of his mind. He wants to sink into it and take control and never leave.
It makes him feel weak and strong, it just makes him feel, and he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help himself and he groans, holds onto Stiles tighter and lets himself melt.
Stiles is going to quit his job. Stiles is going to quit his job so he can just keep kissing Derek forever. Because nothing can be better than kissing Derek, who is surprisingly pliant, but never passive and just his lips.
If he does want to keep his job though, he will have stop, because that stupid meeting is still happening, but god he doesn't want to.
He finally disentangles himself but stays close, panting into Derek's neck.
“Um, that was, yeah. Oh my god Derek, I really, really don't want to leave, but, I do have a meeting to get to. Oh, and by the way--you are going to tell me just where that info came from. Stalker.”
Derek only makes a small mewling sound and nuzzles into Stiles’ cheek. He’s really testing his will power, because that is just patently unfair.
“Believe me, I don’t want to go, but Finstock will have my ass – not literally because as far as I'm concerned my ass is reserved for you – if I'm late for this. We only have to get through this and then rehearsals and then we can go for that date or coffee or whatever you want” Derek looks up at that, looking a bit lost, but mostly like he got an unexpected present, happy and stunned and extremely kissable.
Stiles indulges himself for a few minutes longer – Derek makes the most awesome groaning noises - , finally walking backwards out of the room so he can look at him longer. Just before he turns around, he can see a small charmed smile on Derek's face as he looks at the ground.
Score for Stilinski.
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