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Derek sighed over his Caesar salad as Grace Potter and the Nocturnals sang “Stars” over the intercom radio for the fifth time in his shift. While living in low-population Beacon Hills had cut down his grocery-line waiting time, it also meant that he spent most of his shift reading articles online instead of actually performing optometry.
Throwing his soggy lettuce in the trash, he left his office to loiter in the main room near Lydia’s desk and the endless wall of glasses frames.
“Your next appointment’s in ten,” Lydia informed him, typing away quickly. Derek shivered and wondered, not for the first time, if she could read his thoughts (or worse, if he was just that predictable).
“Just send them in,” Derek muttered under his breath. He sat in his rolling chair, picking up a back issue of OJAOA and flipping through it grumpily.
When the door cracked open moments later, he tossed it aside and put on his friendly-doctor smile. Only, a second later, he felt his jaw snapping shut as he took in the younger man before him.
He was tall, probably the same height as Derek himself, wearing skinny jeans and a button up over an obnoxious Green Lantern t-shirt. Derek had never felt so immediately attracted to someone, but his eyes lingered on exposed wrists and Adam’s apples.
“Derek Hale, O.D.?” mysterious stranger asked with a self-conscious smile.
“Yeah,” Derek said, standing to offer his hand. “You are?”
“Your two o’clock, Stiles Stilinski,” the brunette introduced, shaking quickly. At first contact, Derek knew he was in trouble as he felt himself flush.
“Chair,” Derek managed. “Sit.” He turned away from the guy, fiddling with the clipboard where he would record notes during the visit. When he felt certain that Stiles was seated, he turned back around to plow forward.
“My boss said that if I wanted to be in charge of the children’s section of the library, I had to be able to read them stories,” Stiles told him cheerfully. “So here I am.”
“Okay,” Derek said slowly. “It won’t take long. Read off the third line from the chart over there.” He gestured and Stiles called the letters out slowly, perfectly. Hoping to get through as quickly as possible, Derek skipped the rest of that process.
“Let me take a look,” Dr Hale said decisively. He scooted forward in his rolly chair to shine a light into Stiles’s eyes. As he checked for abnormalities, he found himself trying to define their color. They were darker than gold, deeper than honey, more like a wine… He stopped short as he realized how long he’d lingered.
“Let’s just move on to the phoropter,” he said. “And you’ll be out of here in no time.” Derek wiped his palms against his khaki pants quickly, then reached out to pull the viewer into place.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m on my lunch break,” Stiles said. Derek noticed his fingers drumming on the armrests of the cushy patient chair. Anxiety thing or Stiles thing? Derek was surprised by how much he wanted to know.
“Okay, I’m going to show you two slides and you can tell me if it’s better or worse.” He settled on the first side and switched to the next quickly. “Better or worse?”
“Ah, better, I think,” Stiles answered. Derek watched him lick his lips below the viewfinder. Jesus Christ. Derek’s hand shook as he switched slides.
“Better or worse?”
“Eh, better,” Stiles replied easily. Derek slid his chair a little closer.
“Better or worse?”
“Much better,” Stiles murmured, smirking. “Perfect, actually.” Derek’s finger slipped, slamming the next slide with a loud click.
“Better or-“
“I think it’s the same,” Stiles interrupted.
“Great,” Derek said, voice hoarse, as he slid back and bumped into his desk. “I’ll write you a prescription. You can take it out front, pick frames, and Lydia will do the rest.”
“Awesome,” Stiles said, standing and stretching as he waited for the paper slip. Derek was glad to have a reason not to watch the stretch of skin exposed, taunting him from the corner of his eye.
“I’ll walk you out,” Derek offered, standing quickly and leading Stiles to the main space. He thrust the prescription towards the man and smiled, strained. “Have a good one.”
With that, he turned tail and ran (in a manly fashion) back into his office. Have a good one? A good what? He groaned, trying fervently to calm himself—or console himself, he wasn’t sure yet.
***
When Stiles returned on Friday, Derek shouldn’t have felt nearly as surprised as he did. Prescription glasses only took a few days to come in, especially for such a low power. Instead, Derek felt blind-sided by the reappearance of the younger man.
“Stiles,” Derek greeted from where he was filling Lydia’s desk while she took a late lunch.
“Hey, Derek,” Stiles replied happily, almost literally bouncing over to him. “Came to pick up my glasses!”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Derek blustered. He pulled open the pick-up drawer, pulling out the blue case marked Stilinski immediately and handing them over. “You should try them on. For adjustment purposes.”
“Sure.” Stiles smiled at him, amused, then took the seat across from the desk. He popped open the case, retrieved the glasses, and slid them on easily as he glanced into a desktop mirror. “Oh, huh, that’s different.”
Derek’s throat constricted tightly as he gazed at the man before him. The thick black squares framed the deep claret of his eyes and emphasized the long lashes beautifully.
“What do you think?” Stiles asked, grinning.
“Nice,” Derek managed to say, trying desperately to look at anything but the way Stiles’s hands were always in motion or the soft tilt of his head.
“Great!” Stiles exclaimed happily, drawing his attention as he clapped the case shut. “So, can I see you again sometime?”
“See… me?” Derek asked, eyes widening as he gazed over at Stiles. For his part, the younger man shrugged lightly.
“Honestly, I don’t really need these,” Stiles gestured to the glasses. “But Lydia’s been trying to convince me to meet you finally for weeks.” Derek’s breath left him in a rush.
“Okay,” Derek said lamely. “You can see me.”
“Literally,” Stiles said, winking. He grabbed a pen and post-it from Lydia’s desk and scribbled his number across it quickly. “Call me, and we can see if you manage actual sentences outside of the workplace.” Derek made an indignant noise, probably not to his defense.
It was quickly silenced as Stiles stood, leaning so close across the desk that his eyes took up most of Derek’s field of vision. He felt the younger man’s breath on his face.
“Have a good one.” With a smirk, Stiles pulled away and left Derek open-mouthed behind him.