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It starts out simple enough. Derek comes by to borrow one of the books on the supernatural Stiles sourced and purchased and catches him watching Project Runway on his laptop. Stiles scrambles to pause it and shut the lid, blushing even though Derek hasn’t made any indication of wanting to tease him. He simply stands there, waiting for Stiles to root through the mess on his desk to find the book.
“Laura liked that show,” he says when Stiles hands him the book, his voice so quiet that Stiles almost misses it. Stiles starts, almost dropping the book, then smiles tentatively.
“It’s kind of addictive,” he admits, sinking down into his desk chair. “I started with season four, and had to go back and watch the older seasons once that season was done.” Derek nods, then hops out the still open window, not even bothering to actually say goodbye. Stiles leans back for a moment, considering, then pushes himself up out of the chair and hops back onto his bed and pulls the laptop over to him. Benjamin and Michelle were in the middle of a bitchy fight and he doesn’t want to miss out on it.
*****
Project Runway is Stiles’ guilty pleasure, something he keeps to himself. He doesn’t even watch it on TV, instead waiting until they’re posted on the Lifetime website and watching them in his room. His dad is gone Saturday evenings, and Scott usually spends that with his mom or Allison, so that’s Stiles’ typical PR time. He’s just settling in when he hears a tap at his window. He opens it and leans out to see Derek standing on the lawn, what looks like a fistful of pebbles in his hand.
“What’s up?” Stiles asks, not bothering to raise his voice. He knows Derek can hear him easily enough.
“Can I come up?” Derek calls up, his voice only just loud enough to carry. Stiles nods and pulls back, waiting expectantly for Derek to vault himself through the window. After a few moments, he ducks his head out again, and realizes that Derek’s gone around to the kitchen door. Stiles races down the stairs and throws the door open, blushing slightly at the small smile on Derek’s face.
“Thought you were going to come up,” Stiles says awkwardly. Derek shrugs, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. Stiles steps back immediately, gesturing Derek in. The Alpha slinks by him, not even hesitating before he’s heading up the stairs. Stiles sighs and rolls his eyes, but follows Derek up anyway, stopping in his doorway to lean against the frame and watch Derek as he sits in the desk chair.
“Is there a reason for this visit?” Stiles finally asks, after Derek has readjusted for the third time. Derek starts and looks up guiltily, fingers clenching and releasing on the arms of the chair. He mumbles something that Stiles doesn’t have even a hope of catching.
“Dude, you’re going to have to speak up,” Stiles says, keeping any trace of impatience out of his voice. Truthfully, he’s more worried than impatient, but he knows that even that slight edge will have Derek clamming up if he hears it.
“I was wondering if you were going to watch the new episode tonight,” Derek says, his voice just a bit too loud and his words perfectly enunciated. Stiles stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before the logical extension of that sentence clicks into place and he’s blushing.
“Yeah, I was. Am. Whatever.” Stiles tells him, trying to control his embarrassment. It’s not wrong, he knows, to like the show. Sure, it’s a little trite, like pretty much every other “reality” competition show, and it’s not like he’s really learning anything from it, but to him that’s part of why it’s enjoyable. Being a guy who’s never picked up a needle and thread for anything more complicated than sewing on a button and yet feeling like he can tell competent designers what to do (by yelling at the screen, of course) is quite simply fun.
“Can... can I watch it with you?” Derek’s voice is going quiet again, but Stiles still hears him, and although his eyebrows shoot up, he nods and heads over to his bed, grabbing his laptop and patting the space beside him.
“C’mon then,” Stiles says, and he knows his voice is a little too gentle and it sounds like pity, but Derek’s sliding in beside him anyway, just a thin strip of the bed separating them. Stiles steadfastly ignores the tension thrumming through Derek, getting the video started loading. He’s glad he talked his dad into getting faster internet a year ago, he doesn’t think Derek would manage to sit through the delays that had plagued all of Stiles’ earlier streaming. As it is, Derek is starting to shift uncomfortably again by the time Stiles figures he’s got a good enough buffer and hits play, then full-screens the video.
Setting the laptop half on his knee and half on Derek’s, Stiles leans back against the wall and stares at the screen as the montage of the last episode plays. Derek relaxes halfway through the opening sequence and Stiles lets himself feel a brief thrill of triumph before immersing himself in the drama of the show.
*****
The next Saturday, Stiles is in the kitchen making popcorn when Derek taps on the door, pressing his face up to the glass to give Stiles a sad look. Stiles stifles a laugh and unlocks the door, opening it for Derek, but turning back to the popcorn rather than going through the dance of inviting the Alpha in.
“Popcorn?” Derek asks, somehow managing to make it sound derisive. Stiles huffs at him at casts a glance over his shoulder.
“Yes, delicious, air-popped popcorn, which I will top with more melted butter than I let my dad see in a year.” Stiles proceeds to do exactly that, gently shaking the bowl to get all the kernels properly coated. He looks up to see Derek staring at the bowl with an expression somewhere between concern and disgust, and he can’t hold back a snort.
“If this is going to be a thing, just let me know what you’d prefer for snacks and I’ll see what I can do.” Derek’s face goes tight for a second, but Stiles just walks past him and toward the stairs, and after a moment he hears Derek’s footsteps following him.
“Sour cream and onion chips, or dill pickle,” Derek says as they’re settling on the bed and the episode is buffering. Stiles blinks, then nods.
“I think I can do that,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Derek’s affectionately.
And when Derek shows up at his door the next week, Stiles presents him with a bowl of dill pickle chips and a smile. Derek’s responding smile is strained and awkward, but genuine.
*****
With the precedent set, Derek coming over Saturday evenings for snacks and Project Runway becomes a habit. When season 11 ends (Stiles kindly does not gloat that he guessed the winner and that Derek was wrong), they watch two of the seasons Derek missed before season 12 starts, moving up to two episodes a week to get through as much as they reasonably can.
They’re five weeks into the new season before Stiles realizes that this ‘little’ habit of theirs has now spanned through the spring and summer and into his senior year. He’s spending almost as much time with Derek as he is with Scott, between pack meetings, research and their PR nights. The frightening thing for him is that it’s taken him so long to realize it, and he’s gotten so comfortable that it doesn’t even bother him at first.
He’s freaking out a bit when Derek shows up the last Saturday of September, and the Alpha can clearly sense the tension, looking uncomfortable in a way he hasn’t in several months.
“Hey, dude,” Stiles says, trying to come across as casual. Derek’s frown tells him that he hasn’t succeeded, so he distracts him with the bowl of chips, leading the way up to his bedroom in silence. He’s in the middle of setting up the laptop when Derek’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“Something’s wrong,” Derek says flatly, his forehead creased deeply. Stiles hesitates, not knowing how to phrase what he’s feeling.
“We’re friends, right?” he finally asks, and Derek frowns.
“I thought we were,” he responds, sounding hurt. Stiles flaps his hand at him, feeling overwhelmed.
“I thought so too. I just - this isn’t what I ever expected for us. I thought we’d always be on opposite sides because of Scott, and now we’re always seeing each other and spending time together and - well, it was a bit of a shock, that’s all.” Derek’s face has lightened up throughout Stiles’ mini-rant, and by the end of it, he’s nearly smiling.
“Sorry,” Stiles says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mouth getting away from me again.” He drops onto the bed, crossing his legs and looking up at Derek.
“No... no, it’s good.” Derek smiles and sits beside Stiles, casually laying a hand on his knee. “It’s been a while since I had a real friend.” Stiles sighs and leans against him.
“We’re fucked up, dude.” Derek laughs at that, nudging Stiles with his shoulder.
“Isn’t everyone, though?” Derek’s voice is a little contemplative, but mostly good humoured.
“In our group, I guess so, yeah,” Stiles allows, then he swings his legs over and shifts across the bed to give Derek his usual space. Derek takes it without a hesitation, but he lifts the laptop up and tugs Stiles’ blanket up over their legs as well before setting the laptop in its usual place. It’s a bit awkward, balancing the computer on a surface as unstable as the blanket, but once they’re settled, Stiles shifts it slightly and then starts the episode.
*****
“They’re a rock band from Canada, Stiles,” Derek says sharply. “They can’t really be trendsetters.”
“Shows what you know,” Stiles practically spits, but his eyes are bright and turned up at the corners and he knows he’s only a few moments away from laughing. Derek’s not really mad either, Stiles can tell. He just enjoys the arguments they have, the ones they started having after their conversation about being friends.
“I know plenty,” Derek defends, his voice already breaking into laughter.
“Sure, says the guy who hangs around high-school kids all the time.”
“Says the guy who is a high-school kid himself!” Derek shoots back, and Stiles laughs at it.
“Yeah, I guess neither of us can really say much about fashion, can we?” he asks, gesturing at his own plaid flannel and Derek’s determinedly monochromatic outfit. “Guess we should leave it to the experts. Who picked the Sheepdogs as the band they wanted to have designs done for.” He smirks, pleased with his own ability to win the argument, then squeaks when Derek shoves his shoulder gently.
“Smartass,” Derek says affectionately, cueing up the next episode. He settles back down beside Stiles and hit play, then snuggles against him as the retrospective starts.
“You know it,” Stiles says smugly, just loud enough to be heard.
“You’re just lucky I love you enough to let you win,” Derek mutters a few moments later, not even seeming to be aware of the fact that he’s speaking out loud. Stiles feels his heart flip in his chest and he barely keeps himself from gaping at Derek. The Alpha’s just staring at the screen, as though he’s caught up in the snippets of the episode they’d watched five minutes ago. He probably is, he’s always suggesting that they have clues about who’s going to get eliminated next, but Stiles can’t help but wonder how Derek hasn’t noticed his pounding heart and his unrelenting stare yet.
“What’s up?” Derek asks, hitting the spacebar to pause the show and turning to look at Stiles. Stiles blinks, feeling oddly like his mind has been read for a moment, then again when he realizes he has no idea what to say. Derek can’t have realized what he was saying out loud, and as much as Stiles wants to interpret it in the way that would make him happiest, he knows that doing so would put their friendship at risk. He’s not willing to bet the line on it, he’s very sure about that.
It doesn’t matter what he wants, though, because Derek’s eyes suddenly darken and his brow furrows. His eyes flick back and forth for a moment before widening, and Stiles knows he’s remembered what he was thinking of saying and realizing that he did actually say it. Stiles is about to reach out, to tell Derek that everything’s OK, that he won’t take it too personally when Derek tells him he didn’t really mean it, when Derek jumps out of the bed and presses himself up against the wall, his hands scrabbling at the window behind him.
“Derek?” Stiles says, and he hates how his voice breaks, how it says that he’s uncertain and afraid. He is, of course, but he knows Derek will think it’s for worse reasons than what’s actually going through his mind. For once, though, his mouth isn’t just spouting out all the words he’s thinking as he’s thinking them, and Derek’s got the window open already and is backing out of it.
“Stiles... I’m sorry,” Derek whispers, and then he’s gone.
*****
Stiles isn’t expecting the window to slide open Saturday evening. He’s spent the week since his last Project Runway night trying to get in touch with Derek and failing. By the time Saturday rolls around, he feels like complete and utter shit. Knowing that he didn’t really do anything wrong doesn’t really help, even though he thinks that it should.
Despite the lack of contact and the shitty way things had ended, Stiles still pours a family sized bag of sour cream and onion chips into a large bowl and puts a few cans of Derek’s Coke in the fridge beside his Sprite. Then he sits at the kitchen table and waits, watching as the hands of the clock tick by. Derek usually shows up around 7, avoiding Stiles’ solo dinners but still giving them plenty of time to watch a couple of episodes.
By 8, Stiles knows that Derek’s not coming. He tries not to feel too disappointed, but there’s a pit of unease and unhappiness in his stomach that he can’t deny. He’d known that something like this would happen, and the fact that he’s not the one who initially made it happen doesn’t really help. He can’t help but wonder if his attraction to Derek is the cause of Derek’s comment, and if his reaction to it is why the Alpha is avoiding him now. Maybe Derek meant that he loved him in a platonic, brotherly way, and Stiles had stunk the place up with his arousal.
With a sigh, Stiles grabs the bowl of chips and two of his cans of Sprite and thumps his way up the stairs. He doesn’t think he can handle watching Project Runway, not without Derek there, but he’s got a few episodes of White Collar stored up for an evening like this. The best cure for his heartbreak over a grumpy, sour Alpha werewolf is definitely a few hours of watching Neal Caffrey being charming and gorgeous. Even if his perpetual stubble does make Stiles think of Derek.
When he reaches his room, however, he does a double-take at seeing that the window is open and Derek is seated in the desk chair, looking incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Judging by the chill in the room, the Alpha has been there for at least half an hour. Stiles hesitates for a moment, feeling like he should say something, then simply steps past Derek and shuts the window, then hops up onto his bed. He’s fiddling around with his laptop when Derek climbs up next to him, sitting further away than usual and facing him.
“I didn’t think you were going to come,” Stiles says after several moments of intensely awkward silence. He allows his eyes to flicker up to look at Derek’s face, but he can’t hold his red-tinged gaze for more than a moment before he’s looking back down at the laptop.
“I screwed up, and I’m sorry.” Derek sounds like the words are being torn out of him, and his face isn’t any more reassuring when Stiles looks up again.
“Hey, no worries,” he says, flapping his hand a bit and shoving all his feelings down as far as he can. He’s got Derek here, which means there’s a chance their friendship can be saved. Putting aside the hurt that comes from hearing that Derek thinks saying that he loves him was a mistake is well within what he’s willing to do.
“Look, I get that you didn’t mean that the way it came out, or maybe at all,” Stiles continues. “I can forget about it, no problem. That’s what friends do, right?” He bites his lip to stop himself from rambling, hoping that the tension spiralling into his voice isn’t as obvious to Derek as it is to him. Judging by the poleaxed look on Derek’s face, though, he might be out of luck.
“That’s not what I meant,” Derek finally says, and Stiles tilts his head, waiting for further clarification. Derek’s mouth opens and he seems like he’s on the verge of saying something, but then he clams up, his brow furrowing.
“Let’s just watch that episode,” Stiles tells him after a few moments of silence. Derek still looks like he’s lost in thought, but he shifts around until he’s sitting with his back to the headboard, so Stiles pulls the laptop over between them and finds the episode they’d started watching last week. He settles down into the bed once it’s playing, very carefully keeping himself from sliding over against Derek the way he’d been doing recently.
It doesn’t seem to matter, because by the time the opening montage and title sequence are done, Derek’s pressed right up against him, closer than they’ve ever been. Stiles tries desperately to focus on the episode and not fuck things up again, but he loses his composure entirely when Derek snakes an arm across him, pulling him over onto his side and wrapping the other arm around him in one smooth move. Stiles tenses instantly, holding himself perfectly still as Derek adjusts him then pulls the laptop over so it’s perfectly situated for both of them to watch.
Stiles lets his body relax after a few moments, but his mind keeps running, questioning everything and trying to figure out what’s going on. He can’t believe that Derek actually meant what he said last week in the way that Stiles wants him to have, but nothing else seems to explain everything. He doesn’t even notice that the episode’s ended until Derek shuts the laptop and sets it to the side. Stiles starts to pull back and away, hoping that he can just get out of the evening without being embarrassed or hurt, but Derek just tightens his arms and holds him still.
“I meant that I was sorry for running,” the Alpha says, and it takes Stiles a moment to realize that he’s continuing their earlier conversation.
“Derek...” Stiles starts, trying to pull back again, but Derek shakes his head and holds tight.
“I didn’t mean to say what I did not because it wasn’t true, but because I knew we’d need to actually talk about the idea. Blurting it out without realizing was stupid. And when I realized what I’d done, I just presumed that your expression meant that I’d ruined any chance we had. So I ran.” Derek runs his hand over his face, finally giving Stiles the space to pull back. He only moves a few inches, though, just enough to be able to actually look at Derek properly.
“Why did you avoid me all week, then?” Stiles asks, not bothering to hide his hurt. He will forgive Derek, especially if the conversation goes the way he thinks it will, but he wants the Alpha to know that what he did has consequences.
“I felt like an idiot,” Derek says bluntly, looking down at Stiles. “I realized that maybe you’d misinterpreted what I’d said, or that I’d misread your reaction, but I ran out on you, and I didn’t know how you’d handle that. So I thought I’d figure things out on my end a bit better, to be able to have the talk you deserve. To make sure this talk happened.”
“And that took a week?” Stiles snarks. Derek looks abashed for a moment, then starts to smile softly.
“Most of it. I finally had it all sorted out yesterday, but I wanted to wait until today.”
“Why?” Stiles knows he sounds more than a little forlorn, and he knows he’s probably giving away the fact that most of his anger and hurt is because he really cares about Derek, but in that moment, it doesn’t really matter. In fact, he thinks he might need Derek to see how much he cares. He thinks Derek might need it too.
“Because this is what brought us together, these evenings just sitting here and watching Project Runway together. And... it just seemed right to wait.” Derek shrugs, his hand stroking idly up and down Stiles’ back. Stiles sighs softly and relaxes back against Derek, burying his face in the Alpha’s neck.
“Stiles,” Derek says after a few minutes. Stiles hums his awareness, pulling back to look up at Derek. “Please forgive me.”
“I already have,” Stiles tells him honestly, a half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I know you’re not exactly the best at this shit, and I can’t exactly hold it against you that you needed some time to figure things out. I just... I thought you didn’t trust me to be cool with whatever you needed, with whatever you wanted. And that hurt.”
“I do trust you, Stiles,” Dereks says brokenly. “You’re the only person I trust completely.” Stiles’ smile grows, and he reaches up to lay a finger across Derek’s lips.
“I know. I get it now. And I hope you can forgive me for being a little worried about it in the first place.” Derek nods quickly. “But you can’t just run away again, OK? I can give you space when you need to think, but I need to know that’s what you’re doing, that you’re not just running away. It’s the only way we’re going to make this work.”
“Make what work, Stiles?”
“Us as a couple. That is what you want, right?” Stiles doesn’t show that he’s nervous about the answer, that he’s putting on a show of bravado to hide the fact that he’s still sort of guessing. The look in Derek’s eyes gives him hope that he’s right, at least.
“Yes,” Derek sighs, drawing Stiles up to him and kissing him long and deep. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to loop his free arm around Derek’s neck to help pull his body up and around to meet Derek’s lips. The kiss tells him everything he needs to know, and he lets himself sink into it, giving as good as he gets.
“I love you,” Derek whispers into Stiles’ lips when they finally break apart, and he’s barely finished speaking before he’s initiating another kiss. Stiles allows it, but he pulls back sooner than Derek would like, holding himself away slightly when the Alpha chases after his mouth.
“I know,” he says solemnly. “I love you too. I think I have for a while.” Derek’s smile is beatific, and Stiles can’t stop himself from kissing him again, until a thought crosses his mind and he has to pull away to laugh.
“What,” Derek asks, clearly unimpressed that Stiles is interrupting their kissing.
“You do realize,” Stiles says between laughs, “that when people ask us how we got together, we have to choose between ‘werewolves’ and ‘Project Runway’?” He dissolves into laughter at the look on Derek’s face, and doesn’t stop until the Alpha kisses him into submission.