Chapter Text
Stiles was running late. Again. Meaning he didn't have time to go all the way across campus to his favorite coffee place. The one he called Cheap Coffee, Good Cookies. Normally that wouldn't be a problem. He would just whip up some instant coffee and head out. Not this morning, though.
"Scott, I will murder you in your sleep next time you use the last of my instant coffee without telling me," Stiles growled into his phone.
"Dude. Did you have to call and wake me up to tell me that? You could've just texted me." He heard Scott groan on the other end of the line. Stiles held back a chuckle. He knew that meant that his best friend had just checked the time.
"Yes, I had to. Now I have to go to that one place with the shitty coffee and the rude barista. I needed the satisfaction of waking you up and physically growling at you to make it through the day. Now go back to sleep, you evil coffee stealing badger." He was nearing the coffee shop that he'd began thinking of as Bad Coffee, Mean People.
"Badger. Right. G'night, Stiles. Learn things," his best friend mumbled, already half-way back to sleep.
Stiles rolled his eyes and grinned. That boy had the most backward sleep schedule Stiles had ever seen. Granted, Stiles didn't sleep much, but at least the few hours he did get were while it was dark out. Scott slept from around 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. Which is why calling and waking him up at 8 in the morning had been so satisfying. Even though Stiles sort of felt bad about it now. He would apologize later.
Stiles would have foregone coffee completely this morning, except he'd been up until 4:30 working on a history paper. Three hours of sleep wasn't going to do it for him today, since he'd gotten roughly the same amount each night this week. He would catch up on the weekend. Right now he needed coffee and to speed walk to his 9 a.m. class. He checked the time on his phone.
"Dammit, Scott," he grumbled. He only had 20 minutes to make it to class, even though he’d only gotten up 30 minutes late.
He walked up to the counter. The dark boy in front of him gave him a blank look. "What do you want?"
Stiles huffed in frustration. Rubbing his forehead in a preemptive attack against the inevitable headache, he said, "I'm just going to pretend you asked, 'What can I get you' because I don't want to deal with a surly barista on top of everything else this morning. I need a very large drip coffee and whatever kind of baked thing is freshest." That sounded really vague. Stiles wondered if he should’ve been more specific, but decided it was enough information for the man to work with.
The man, whose nametag read Boyd, didn't change his expression at all. He took his time walking over to the glass case and examining the food there. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned to see what was going on in the shop behind him. He wanted to go behind the counter and fix his own damn coffee, but he was resisting. Scott would be so proud.
He had heard the faint strains of music when he had come in. Now he zeroed in on the source. On one wall of the room was a platform and on that platform was one of the most beautiful men Stiles had ever seen. His beauty was only heightened for Stiles by the guitar in his hands and the mic in front of him. It took Stiles a few seconds to move from internally flailing about his cheekbones to realizing that a voice like creamy mousse was coming from the man. Then he had to take a few more seconds before he could understand the words coming from that mouth that seemed to pout even as it sang.
Against the soft strumming, his voice carried across the room.
"Winter beat the pines about.
He heard the heater
Cutting in and out,
While she dreamed away."
There was a small guitar interlude, during which, Stiles just stared at the man's face. There were so many feelings showing there, but Stiles could only place two. There was hurt. And loss. He knew those two well enough from experience to spot them on someone else's face. The other expressions escaped him, though. Boyd tried to get his attention, but the man started singing again so Stiles held up a finger to silence the barista.
"In the night
It snowed.
Fast tracks in the powder white,
Leading out to the road
Winding from her tender grasp.
Wild things run fast.
Wild things run fast.
Wild things run fast."
"Your coffee, man. It's done. Come on," Stiles heard from behind him, drowning out the last few lines of the song.
What the ever loving fuck. Why would he do that? thought Stiles.
He rounded on the man. "Okay, listen. I was trying to listen to the song. I swear to every god ever that you are the rudest barista I've encountered to date. I'll take my coffee and pastry, but you're not getting a tip because you've pretty much been a douche the whole time. If I come back here, it will be to hear that beautiful man sing, not for your customer service." He handed the man a $5 bill and waited for his change. He wished he'd timed his tantrum better, for instance, after he’d already paid, because he could feel several pairs of eyes on him.
He still managed to storm out, but he kept his head down so as not to make eye contact with anyone. For all his initial embarrassment, he still couldn't get the singer's face out of his thoughts. In fact, Stiles was so preoccupied with the man's cheekbones and the way his long eyelashes fanned out against them that he forgot to be embarrassed about walking into class late.
Derek’s morning had not started on a high note. He woke up sweaty and panicking from the only nightmare he ever had. Kate Argent, burning his family alive while he watched from the tree he was tied to. So needless to say, Derek was not in a great frame of mind while picking out his set list for the day. He tried to put in some feel-good music, but he ended up letting some angst slip in. Wild Things Run Fast was the third song in his set.
He knew that even through his more upbeat songs, some of his melancholy snuck into his voice and phrasing. Every time he looked at the few patrons of the New Moon Café, he saw concern and a lack of understanding of his mood. They hadn’t had much experience with Derek in this frame of mind. He tried to rein it in.
But when he got to those angsty pieces, he let all of his wounds open up and pour out into the songs.
Wild Things was the worst, he’d known it would be. He could never decide which of them, he or Kate, was the wild thing. That tore into him, and he let it show.
He sang the whole song with his eyes closed. He didn’t necessarily want everyone present to know he’d been fucked over tremendously, but he didn’t try to hide it, either. The cut offs sounded broken and he wailed the longer notes. He was burning with a pain that was only going to be helped by singing it, loudly and just as he felt it.
“In the dark
He could see
The trap that was lying in her
Sweet company,
Eating from her hand at last.
Wild things run fast.”
As he ended the song (Wild thing, I thought you loved me) he heard someone shouting. He brought himself back from the haunting of his nightmare to see who was doing the yelling and why. Usually this place didn’t get enough customers to have any sort of disturbances. He caught the tail end of the rant coming from the front of the room.
“—pretty much been a douche the whole time. If I come back here, it will be to hear that beautiful man sing, not for your customer service.”
Had he said beautiful? Derek kept his eyes trained on the boy. He was at the perfect angle to see a flush creep up his neck and over his visible ear as he handed Boyd a bill. He wondered why until he saw that Boyed was making change. He had to stay and wait for it or Boyd would keep it as a tip, which Derek was sure the boy wouldn’t want.
When the boy stalked out of the building with coffee in one hand, a paper sack in the other and his head down, Derek felt some of his heaviness melt away. What a funny person. He wondered about his age and if he always felt the need to shout at the people who were preparing his food. And he’d called Derek beautiful? That was a new one.
Through the rest of his set, he thought about the blush on the boy’s neck. Half-way through his final song, he realized that his bad mood had all but disappeared. He needed to know who the boy was. He would start with Boyd.
He walked up to the man he’d known for years and had come to trust as family. “Who was the guy?”
“I don’t know. He comes in sometimes and he’s always in a hurry. He wasn’t today, though.” Derek thought it was a tribute to their friendship that Boyd had known what he meant and what he wanted to hear from the four words he’d used.
“Does he go to the college?” Derek asked, aiming for indifference. He knew he “casual posture” was too stiff and he could feel a blush trying to creep up his face. Which just made him think of the boy blushing and the boy’s neck. He cleared his throat unnecessarily.
“I think he said something about a 9 o’clock class once. You want me to do recon next time he comes in?” Boyd looked at him sideways.
“Yes. Covert recon, Boyd. Don’t fuck it up.” He slapped the man on the back and went to pack his things up. Soon he’d know. Boyd didn’t fuck things up. Soon he’d know about the boy and he might be able to make a move. Maybe.