Chapter Text
"Yo, Scotty boy," Stiles says, "sorry I'm probably interrupting your intense vet-studying, but I really need to rant to somebody while they make encouraging noises and Lydia's threatened me with progressively more terrifying methods of murder each seven times I've called her trying to start this exact conversation, so -"
There's a noise on the other end like Scott's going to interrupt. Stiles feels a pang of guilt - he probably is interrupting serious study binge time - but some pretty weird shit's been happening lately, and while usually he'd just grin and bear it he really needs to get at least a little bit of this off of his chest.
"No, please don't say anything, I really need to say some of this to someone." Stiles pleads.
There's an awkward cough that he takes as a go ahead, dude.
Stiles ploughs on. "Okay, so the weird things only started happening on - uh - Tuesday, but I'm still seriously creeped out by one thing in particular right now, and that's the fact that my college class overran by, like, decades, and it's dark and the lamps on this street must be broken or something because they're not on, and I'm pretty sure there's this dude stalking me."
A stunned silence on the other end, then a noise like Scott's going to start panicking. Stiles tries not to roll his eyes.
"Dude, chill, I'll be fine - my Dad's the Sheriff, remember? I excel maybe a little too much in fighting - but it's still creepy as hell, so I thought, y'know what? I haven't spoken to Scott in a while -"
"I'm n-" Scott says. His voice is deeper, different. Decidedly Not Scott. Stiles dismisses it. His bro probably has a cold or something.
"No, dude, shut up, seriously, I'll be fine. Honestly. O Ye Of Little Faith. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about my crazy week, and it's not exactly full of daisies, man, you're gonna have to buckle up and grab the popcorn for this one."
There's a resigned sigh.
"Sorry. I know I'm probably interrupting serious Vet Training Time, but you can tune me out, right? I mean, it's ten - hey, it's ten, when did that happen - so you're probably super tired, but that's just gotta make it infinitely easier to ignore me.
"Anyway, man, I asked Lydia if she wanted to grab lunch sometime, as friends, y'know, 'cause she's pretty much the only other intelligent person on the whole work campus, and Jackson gave me serious stink-eye. Like, it was venomous, dude, lizard venomous. I don't want to date her, why can't he just get that? We're buddies. Brain buddies. Heh, that's an alliteration. I like them. Anyway - oh, hey, the dude's gone, guess he wasn't following me after all. Where was I? Oh, yeah, Jackson's a dick. I got over my stupid preschool crush on Lydia eons ago, but he still seems to think I've got it, and that's just so irritating, y'know? Like, dude, I don't want to be Mr Steal-Your-Girl. I wanna be Mr I'm-Friends-But-Only-Friends-With-Your-Girl. Is that a thing? I doubt it. Too long-winded.
"My Lit teacher told me that my writing was at a grade A, Scott. An A. Bordering A*. But he said my book's a teensy bit jumpy - like, you can tell where I started and stopped writing. Apparently I need to make it more seamless, and then it'll be flawless. Fuck, this is exciting. I might get published, Scott! I might be a famous author. Don't worry, I promise you'll get my first autographed book."
There's a snort of laughter from the other end of the line. Scott doesn't sound like that normally. . . maybe he has a worse cold than Stiles had thought. He is prone to hiding shit like that.
"C'mon, don't laugh. Someday I'll be a JK Rowling of this universe, and there'll be fanfiction and films and art based off of my books, and all will bow down to me because I'll be the Fucking Great Lord Of All."
Another noise like Scott's gonna interrupt.
"Ugh," Stiles complains, shamelessly cutting his buddy off yet again. Scott won't mind. He's used to wedging his words into the gaps when Stiles pauses for breath. "My book characters won't behave. Guess what they're doing, Scott?"
"Calling the wrong number and then not letting the other person get a word in edgeways?" Says an unfamiliar voice.
Stiles freezes. "Oh my god."
Laughter. He resolutely doesn't think about how nice it sounds. "Yeah, you fucked up. But don't hang up. You're walking home, right? You mentioned a class earlier, and it's ten o'clock at night -"
"Oh my god," Stiles says dully. "This is a wrong number."
The man snorts. "Yup. Still a wrong number, dumbass, but a wrong number who's now insanely curious about how book characters can misbehave."
Stiles rolls his eyes. Peasant. "You haven't really ever written, have you? Novels, fiction. . . they doesn't go to plan like non-fiction books do, man. Characters misbehave, plot twists surprise you. Stories want to be told, and there are thousands of them, and more are born each day - the little ideas we have, the little what ifs. . . they all turn into stories. Authors are the vessels, the pens - we - well, they - just sit there and let the story run its course. The best stories are the ones that surprise the author, I think.
"But you think the story's going one way, that it's going to do this one thing, so you try and steer if towards that thing, but then one of the characters just goes nope, fuck this shit and makes a decision that changes the path completely. Characters are more alive than you think they are, especially when being written, because they make their own decisions and they choose their own paths. They don't follow your rules all of the time, and they make your whole story a shambles. It's difficult and it's tiring and it's draining, but it's worth it to sit back at the end of your binge writing session and go yo, my buddies, you did good today and actually mean it."
Stiles can hear the smile in this mystery guy's voice (he definitely doesn't want to see what it looks like on his face). "You have a very romantic outlook on life," the man says.
"Not romantic," Stiles corrects. "Positive. I have a positive outlook. And, since I kind of just launched into conversation. . . Hello, I'm Stiles. Who're you?"
The guy burst out laughing. Stiles, used to it, pulls his phone away from his ear and just stares blandly at the screen which displays the number which, upon second review, is completely wrong (he absolutely does not memorise it), and waits out the laughing. "Derek," Derek chokes, obviously still grinning like a loon. "My name is Derek."
"Ah, cool," Stiles says. "Much better than -"
"Stiles?" Derek snickers.
"- calling you That Mysterious Man I Called Accidentally Instead Of My Best Friend And Blurted A Quarter Of My Week At Before He Even Got A Word In Edgeways, at least." Stiles finishes coolly.
"That's a mouthful," Derek notes helpfully.
"It's TMMIACIOMBFABAQOMWABHEGAWIE for short," Stiles manages before they both crack up.
@#£%&**&%£#@
The walk home is both too short and too long. Stiles doesn't want to hang up - he's having this much fun and he's not drunk, c'mon this is a rare opportunity - but he has to use both hands to get to his keys.
"Dude, I have to go," Stiles says mournfully. "Can I call you again, though?"
Derek laughs. "Yeah, sure. I like talking to you, even if you say dude and man too much and you ramble enough to fill seventeen conversations instead of just this one."
Stiles huffs. "Shut up, Derek. You know nothing."
Derek laughs again, and Stiles smiles (what? He's allowed to smile, isn't he? Is expressing his happiness a crime now?).
"Bye, Derek." Stiles says softly.
Derek hums. "Bye, Stiles. Talk to you soon."
"Yeah. You save my number, I'll save yours, and we can text?"
"Okay." There's another smile in Derek's voice. "But I get the feeling that you really do have to go, so stop procrastinating and get on with it."
"Excuse you," Stiles hisses playfully. "I am the master of procrastinating. I procrastinate so hard I'm productive."
"Uh-huh. Bye, Stiles."
"Bye, mysterious man who I called instead of my best friend."
Stiles hangs up before Derek stops laughing.
@#£%&**&%£#@
Scott's all over him almost as soon as he steps into the apartment, first giving hum a hug and then swatting him on the arm.
"Where the fuck've you been?" Scott demands, squeezing him tighter.
Stiles spits some floppy brown hair out of his mouth and tries his best to hug back, which is hard when Scott's doing his anaconda snake impression. "Class overran. Coach let us out super late."
"Why didn't you call me!?" Scott complains, pulling back.
Stiles snorts. "Theoretically, I did."
"No, you didn't." Scott argues. "I'd have heard my phone going off. And what do you mean, theoretically?"
"I called the wrong number and started ranting before he could get a word in." Stiles says as he suppresses a smile.
The tension in Scott's shoulders releases suddenly, a shit-eating grin taking over his features as it goes. "I know that smile."
Stiles pokes said expression experimentally, testing to see if there's anything different about it (there isn't). "What about my smile? It's the same as it always is."
"Nah, bro," Scott snickers. "That's your goofy Scott I met someone and I really really like them what do I do smile."
"I don't have one of those."
"Oh, you do. You're using it."
Stiles makes a break for the nearest mirror and stares at his reflection, prodding at its grin. It is a bit more wistful and daydream-y than normal, but he's feeling optimistic right now, so. . .
"Who's the lucky guy?" Scott snickers.
Stiles glares at him without turning (mirrors are useful that way). "He was a wrong number mistake. Nothing more."
"Did you talk for any longer about anything?" Scott grins.
"No." Stiles snaps, then hesitates.
"Yes," Scott sings, noticing. Damn him for always being shrewd when it best suits him and never any other time.
"Fine, yes." Stiles grumbles something obscene under his breath. "We talked the whole walk home."
Scott whoops loudly (didn't make Stiles jump, nope, not at all) and starts to dance around the room.
Stiles rolls his eyes, but he's grinning again.
His phone chimes, and he pulls it out of his pocket to check it.
Y'know, none of my usual wrong number calls are like that.
Stiles snorts.
I hope not, dude. We have a special bond ;)
Oh God no.
There's no escaping it.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
*evil laugh*