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Stiles sits down on the blanket, kicks of his shoes, and pulls his knees to his chest. He sighs so loud the couple sitting next to him actually looks over with worried expressions. He ignores them. He’d hoped that going to the movie anyway, even if he had no date, would cheer him up a little. Hairspray isn’t exactly his favourite movie, but it’s cheerful and has a hot cast, so he’d hoped it would at least distract him enough to keep the scene from yesterday playing over and over in his head.
Yesterday, he’d finally gathered enough courage to ask Derek out. He’d thought of the perfect date: a movie he knew Derek loved, being outside on a beautiful summer night, snacks, and an extra blanket in case it got chilly and they had to cuddle for warmth. The perfect date. The only thing left to do was to actually ask Derek.
He’d stayed behind after pack night, helping Derek clean up. He’d been doing that a lot lately, so nobody thought anything of it. Halfway through doing the dishes, Stiles had turned to Derek, hoping Derek wouldn’t hear his erratic heartbeat. But before he could say anything, Derek had asked him a question.
‘Do you have any plans for tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, actually. I—‘
‘Oh. Great. Me, too,’ Derek had interrupted him.
‘That’s… good,’ Stiles nodded, not thinking it was good at all. His courage fled.
Derek already had plans. Which meant Derek couldn’t make plans with him. Which meant no date.
An awkward atmosphere had filled Derek’s kitchen, and they barely spoke another word to each other for the rest of the clean-up. Stiles had all but fled the apartment once they were done.
He pulls a bag chips out of his bag and starts chewing despondently. Maybe the crunching will drown out the noises of the cheerful songs from the movie, the giggles and the cheerful chattering of all the people around him.
He should’ve gone with classic pining: staying home and watching romcoms while crying in a tub of ice cream.
‘Stiles?’
Stiles whips his head around at the voice. There’s a pair of nicely shaped legs right next to him. He follows the legs all the way up to a sculpted torso, then further up to his favourite face.
‘Derek? What are you doing here?’
‘I like Hairspray,’ Derek admits.
Stiles can’t see it, but he knows Derek’s ears are turning red. They always do when Derek admits he likes musicals. Stiles thinks it’s adorable.
‘Hey, sit down! You’re blocking the screen!’ someone behind them shouts.
Derek hurriedly drops down next to Stiles. He’s clutching a picnic blanket and a backpack that’s crunching like it’s full of bags of food.
‘You’re here alone?’ Derek asks.
‘Yeah. Wasn’t exactly the plan, though,’ Stiles can’t help adding. ‘You alone, too?’
‘Yeah,’ Derek says, staring straight ahead at the screen. ‘Wasn’t my plan either.’
Stiles feels fury rising up in his chest. Who the hell dared to stand up Derek? Derek is, well, Derek. There is no adjective that could sufficiently described Derek all on its own. Derek is funny, smart, kind. He looks a little dangerous with the beard and the glare, but he’s made of nothing but marshmallow on the inside. He always helps you when you ask, and when you don’t ask. He’s a great hugger—Stiles has been on the receiving end of those plenty of times. When Derek smiles his eyes go crinkly at the corners. When he blushes his ears are the first thing to go red. When he’s reading there’s often a cute little frown of concentration between his brows that Stiles has a hard time resisting smoothing with his fingers. Derek talks with his eyebrows more than with his mouth. He’s a terrible cook, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. He loves musicals, and Russian literature, and can’t help smiling at every dog he sees. He also feels what is probably an unhealthy amount of protectiveness over his Camaro. He’s Derek.
‘I’m sorry,’ Stiles manages to get out somewhat calmly. He’s proud of himself for not demanding he name and address of whoever stood Derek up, so he could punch them in the face. Or get them arrested.
‘For what?’ Derek asks, confused.
‘That you got stood up. That sucks, dude.’
‘I didn’t get stood up.’
Stiles is the one who’s confused now.
‘The person I wanted to go with, they already had plans. So…’ Derek shrugs.
‘And they weren’t willing to change them for you?’
‘I didn’t ask.’
‘I would’ve changed them for you,’ Stiles says before he can stop himself.
Derek is staring at him now. A whole array of expressions and emotions flashing over his face so fast that Stiles can’t read them all. But he thinks he sees surprise, awe and understanding. Finally, with a cautious smile, Derek’s face appears to settle on joy.
‘It was you. I wanted to go with you,’ Derek admits.
Stiles’ jaw drops. Did they… And now…
‘I wanted to go with you, too,’ he grins, punching Derek softly in the thigh. ‘Well, this worked out great. In a weird way.’
Derek scoots a little closer, then cautiously places a hand on Stiles’ cheek. Stiles leans in to it, closing his eyes at the warm comfort of Derek’s hand.
‘I would’ve changed my plans for you, too,’ Derek whispers, he’s barely audible over John Travolta belting out his song. ‘Even if our plans were technically the same.’
‘If your plans involve kissing me right now, then we truly are in sync.’
Derek hums and presses their lips together.
‘Nooo! More,’ Stiles whines when Derek pulls back almost immediately.
Derek presses his lips against Stiles’ cheek. ‘The rest is for after the movie. I’m not that easy.’
‘I am,’ Stiles mumbles.
Derek’s goodnight kiss when they say goodnight by their cars was totally worth the wait.