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Stiles gathers in a deep breath, staring up at the sprawling house. This is not what he wanted for a Saturday. He could be getting down and dirty in halo, a Mountain Dew at his side, or hanging with Scott at the movies, or stealing his dad’s case files for a nice relaxing read.
Instead he swallows, squares his shoulders and forces himself to walk up the steps to the Hale house.
He hates Derek Hale on principal. Sure, the prince of the school has never actually done anything to Stiles. He mostly seems to stare like he can’t believe Stiles is allowed to exist on the same plane as his unholy perfection, brows furrowed.
He actually loves to stare at Stiles. Just… stare. That shit is unnerving. Makes him feel like he’s being stalked by a wild animal or something.
That’s Stiles’ only solace. That as much as he’s about to hate this tutoring thing, Derek Hale will loathe it even more.
He’s not even sure why he’s here, as far as he knew Hale was pretty good at school, but apparently he’s struggling in English. Which at least tracks, because Stiles isn’t entirely sure he’s ever heard the guy speak a full sentence.
He grimaces as he knocks on the door, hearing thumps and pounding from behind it. It sounds like someone’s playing loud music or-
The door swings open way too quickly, and there’s a slim, handsome man standing there, eyes coolly accessing Stiles.
“He’s here.” He calls out, gaze never leaving Stiles’ face.
More pounding and Stiles has to move his head to see Derek and a dark haired girl shoving at each other on the stairs.
“Move, Laura, or I swear to god-“
“I wanna meet him, swear all you like-“
“Children, children,” The handsome man flashes his canines at Stiles in what could be, but is not, a smile. “We have company, remember?”
The girl, Laura, extracts herself and shoves past Derek, leaping to the landing and bolting forward.
“Hi, Laura Hale, welcome to our home,” She holds out a hand, and Stiles takes it on reflex, blinking at her sturdy grip.
Everyone in town knows about the Hales. How just a few years ago when Stiles and Derek were freshman, their house had burned down, trapping almost everyone inside. But the remaining family had stuck together, rebuilding. There was also some business about one of the teachers at the middle school, Miss Argent, but Stiles’ dad had been extremely careful about those files.
Stiles tries not to let any recognition show on his face, but he has an instinctive feeling that they know already, that he knows. His glance goes from the older man, who must be Peter Hale, to Laura, and then past them. Malia Hale loiters at a doorway set far back from the stairs, an easy smile on her face. Cora too, must be lurking.
He sort of expected it to be just him and Derek, which gives him sort of a mixed up feeling.
Not that… not him and Derek like that…
Something must show on his face, because Peter Hale smiles wide.
“He’s very handsome, Der-“
“Everyone leave him alone-“ Derek practically shoves his family members aside. “You’re being weird as fuck.”
He reaches for Stiles’ arm, fingertips just grazing, then seems to think better of it, hand jerking back awkwardly. “Come on. Everyone was just leaving to go to Cora’s soccer game.”
It’s the most Stiles us ever heard Hale say in one go, and it surprises him enough to make it past the threshold.
The house still feels new, the way Stiles isn’t used to, no creaking on the stairs, fresh paint on the walls. Stiles wonders if it’s weird for them to live here knowing what happened, or if it’s important to them, or what.
But he forgets about all that when Derek leads him swiftly into a room. Stiles can’t help but rub his arm where Derek touched him, skin burning with awareness.
“Whoa, Derek Hale’s room,” Stiles cringes because he didn’t quite mean to say that out loud, but the cats out of the bag.
It’s nice, painfully neat in a way that Stiles’ room has never been in its whole existance. He’s almost afraid to sit on the pristine white bed for fear of wrinkling it.
There’s a bunch of sports trophies crowding the area above Derek’s desk, so when Derek sits there he’s surrounded by his own glory. Classic jock stuff, probably wants to intimidate Stiles into doing his homework or something.
That breaks the spell enough that Stiles throws himself on the bed, earning a sharp intake of breath from his princely companion. He sprawls out, trying to ignore how comfortable it is. This is not supposed to be comfortable.
“So, I hear you’ve been fucking up your essays pretty bad?” Stiles asks.
Derek’s jaw works for a second. “Yeah. I uh… didn't have time for the reading on one essay. So my uncle called the school for this. I had nothing to do with it.”
Stiles frowns a little. Because Hale had seemed pretty adamant that he needed a tutor, so Stiles doesn’t understand the weird about face. Hale doesn’t have any of his jock buddies to show off for right now, so why be like this.
“Uh, okay. So do you wanna show me the essay? Or we just supposed to sit here polishing your trophies.”
Hale scowls, brows thunderous. He’s still, unfortunately, one of the most beautiful people on earth so it’s not even hard to look at. He has a hint of stubble, like he didn’t bother to shave for the weekend, and his feet are bare, which makes him seem suddenly more undressed and sends a prickle of unease down Stiles’ spine.
“Have fun up there boys. Don’t forget to wear a condom,” Peter Hale calls from downstairs, startling Stiles out of his concentration on Derek’s perfect face.
When his eyes are magnetically drawn back (sue him) he's even more startled to see a blush across Derek's face.
"Ignore him. Fucking Peter and his bullshit plans.” Derek gets up and stalks to his backpack which is hanging on the back of the door.
"So if you just had one essay, why have me even come over?" Stiles shrugs. "Trying to get the nerd in your den so you can beat me up or something?"
Something about the word 'den' makes Derek flinch, and his neck, too, is red. He roots around in his backpack with harsh movements. Stiles waits, studying his back, the broad stroke of his shoulders down to his narrow waist. Even his back is hot. It's beyond unfair.
"I wouldn't beat you up. You know that, Stiles." Derek's shoulders fall.
"Uh... ok, sure."
"No, actually," Derek turns, his face like thunder, like lighting, so much so Stiles could swear his eyes flash luminous. But they must not, it's just that Derek's emotions are somehow high, for some reason. "You really think that low of me?"
"Well... I dunno, you're this like big jock guy."
Derek snorts. “You seem kind of obsessed with my jock, Stilinski.”
Now it’s Stiles’ turn to blush. As if it’s his fault that Derek is hot as hell. As if it’s his fault that he stupidly got up his hopes for them to talk or something. As if anything would ever come of that. Derek seems soundly pissed that Stiles would even look his way. Derek turns just then of course, so he can see Stiles blush, because Stiles’ life is not fair.
“No! No, I’m just pointing out the obvious.”
“It’s obvious that I wouldn’t want-?” Derek sounds increasingly pissed with every word, and then he breaks off with a shake of his head. “This is stupid.”
“I don’t even know what this is.” Stiles says.
“Here.” Derek thrusts a paper at him, their fingers grazing, awareness sparking under Stiles’ skin. Derek, however, doesn’t seem to share the same affliction, and goes to sit back at his desk with a surly little huff.
Stiles glares at him, hating himself for how curious he is. Hating himself for this crush that even in all these years of going to school together, Stiles hasn’t been able to crush.
It’s stupid, to like someone like Derek Hale. He might as well have a crush on the moon, for all the shot he has.
“You know, I didn’t ask to be here.” Stiles spits, strangling his own feelings in his chest.
“I know.”
“You asked me.” Stiles bites out. “Well, actually Mrs. Hunter asked me. But then you asked me.”
“I know.” Derek crosses his arms.
“Should I leave?”
“If you want.”
Stiles sits up on the bed. “I don’t understand you at all, Hale. You’re always… glaring at me, but you never speak to me. Most guys of your type would have the decency to shove me into a locker or something. It’s just good manners. And now you want me to go and you want me to stay-“
“I have a crush on you. So. Get out.”
Stiles’ head rears back in confusion, because that’s all there is to do. “On… who?”
“On you. And my stupid uncle knows I’m fucking hopeless and made a huge fuss,” Derek blinks at his lap, hard, his cheeks pink. “Fuck. I am fucking hopeless.”
“Well, maybe if you’d been friendlier instead of being all angry when I got here.”
Derek snorts. “Yeah, right. You fucking hate me. Scott told me as much at practice.”
Stiles rubs his forehead. “You asked Scott about me?”
“I was trying to see what you liked so I could like… talk to you about what you like and God, it’s so embarrassing now, just go.” Derek covers his face with his hands.
“That’s why you… oh.” Oh. That’s why he’s always staring like a dog who’s been denied his dinner.
And Scott for once was trying not to blab every one of Stiles’ secrets and almost fucked this all up.
“I’m not good at this sort of thing. Kind of some, um, shit happened to me so I’m not normal. So really, Stillinski, it’s ok, you won’t like offend me or anything by leaving.” Derek covers his face with his hands.
Stiles feels like his heart is having to restart. Derek Hale has a crush on him. On Stiles.
“What if… what if I stay though?” Stiles tries, his face flaming even to say it.
Derek peeks between his fingers, and he’s so fucking cute it actually pains Stiles’ chest.
“Stay?” Derek ventures.
“Like what if I stay and we um… talk?” Stiles is pretty hopeless himself, but he hopes with a smile it comes off as sort of charming and irreverent and not pants-shittingly anxious.
Derek stares at him through his fingers, and for once, it doesn’t make Stiles feel like he’s dinner.
Well, maybe that he’s dinner just a little bit.
He leaves Derek’s paper on the bed and approaches slowly, hesitantly.
“We could play halo, or um, find a puzzle or-“ Stiles swallows, squares his shoulders and forces himself to step close enough to straddle Derek’s lap.
Derek’s hot, and it’s not his face for once. He drops his hands to Stiles’ hips as if in a daze. Those huge hands, the ones that send sparks flying under Stiles’ skin tighten just barely.
“You… what…?” Derek can barely speak.
“You better mean it,” Stiles says, pulling up some ferocity to try to cover the way his heart is pounding.
“I mean it,” Derek is staring again, but this time it warms something in Stiles’ chest. “Do you mean it?”
Stiles nods slowly and leans in until their breaths mingle. He could swear he sees that flash again before Derek’s eyes close, like lightning in a clear blue sky. But then Derek is melting into Stiles’ clumsy kisses, his lips softer than his bed, and Stiles figures he can let the mystery go.
For a couple minutes at least.