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Derek stares at the measuring spoons in horror and looks back at the recipe, did he mix up a tablespoon with teaspoon? What if there’s too much vanilla extract? He wipes the sweat from his brow nervously, there’s no turning back now, it’s too late to run to the store and get enough ingredients to make another souffle. Derek almost doesn’t want to check through the oven window to see if it’s rising properly, but he has to–
It is. It’s perfect.
The oven timer dings and Derek opens it cautiously, pulling out the souffle with trepidation. It smells good, and isn’t falling apart like the first two Derek attempted this morning.
Derek still has a chance.
He makes it to the pavilion where the mating ceremonies are being held with just enough time to spare, pushing the souffle under his registered anonymous “Alpha Applicant Number” at the woman taking entries.
“Cutting it close, aren’t we, sweetie,” she says.
Derek resists glaring at her and just huffs, heading off to join the crowd watching today’s event.
There are only three Omegas coming of age in Beacon Hills this year, and Derek has never been so invested in anything in his entire life. There are Alphas coming in from all over the state—not just local Alphas, but Alphas of affluence and old money, looking for mates.
Derek knows the system is rigged in favor of Alphas with impeccable skills, the anonymous judging system in the early part of the selection process ensuring only those who have spent their entire lives honing certain talents even make it past the first round. But he can’t stomach the idea of Stiles picking anyone of those ridiculous Alphas or going home with them, can’t imagine any of them possibly making Stiles happy.
“Well, this sucks,” Stiles had said to him over the phone when he first presented as an Omega, just a month before the annual mating ceremonies. It had thrown the whole planning committee into a frenzy, now that they had not two, but three of-age Omegas, the whole town was abuzz with the inflow of Alphas for the ceremonies, eager for the rise in business.
“It’s not terrible,” Derek had said back to him. “You’ll have your pick of all the Alphas."
"I mean, I’m not even allowed to talk to anyone or see anyone until this thing is over,” Stiles sighs. “I mean, what are you going to do, knot me over the phone?”
Derek nearly drops his phone.
“Yeah, that’s ridiculous,” he mutters. “Listen, everything will be fine.”
“No, it won’t,” Stiles huffs. “I don’t want just any old Alpha, I don’t care about prolonging anybody’s bloodlines or doing my part in keeping the population steady, I just wish I could have run away with you before all this Omega business made everyone want to kiss my feet—”
Derek’s heart clenches for a moment at the lighthearted tone in Stiles’ voice. He’s never sure if Stiles is joking or not, scattered throughout their friendship has always been that flirtatious banter that Stiles keeps up that Derek’s never pursued in case it would damage their friendship, even back when everyone thought Stiles was a Beta. Derek just thought he would have all the time in the world to bridge that gap from friends to lovers with Stiles, and now—
“Oh shit, my dad’s coming, I’m not supposed to be on the phone—"
"Stiles—”
And the line goes dead.
That was the last time Derek’s spoken to Stiles, and now this is the first time he’s seen him in over a month. He looks great, if a little nervous, sitting on the stage with the two others, a girl Derek only vaguely knows, a Heather something, and Danny Mahealani, from Stiles’ year.
Derek’s seat isn’t great, but he can’t take his eyes off of Stiles as the procession of cakes and pies and various desserts are presented to them. There’s some fluttering as the three mark down on a form which ones they like best with the number of the alpha that submitted them, but most of the attention is focused the taste test itself.
Stiles has no control over himself, and instead of the tiny, dainty bites of each dessert he's supposed to take, in preparation for the long line ahead, he swallows huge gulps of each thing, voraciously tasting and enjoying himself, flecks of sugar dusting his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing. Stiles groans around a chocolate tart, licking a stray drop of sauce off the corner of his lips, and Derek’s pretty sure he isn’t the only Alpha readjusting themselves in their seats.
He gets to Derek’s souffle and takes a bite, closing his eyes. Derek takes a deep breath. This is it— this is make or break— if Stiles doesn’t like it, Derek will be out of the first round, and he’ll never get the chance— oh god oh god oh god, Derek’s heartbeat is racing, his mind immediately focusing on a negative spiral.
He should have told Stiles he loved him when he had the chance.
Stiles licks his lips and reaches for another spoonful, sighing happily, and Derek takes a breath of relief.
Miraculously, he makes it through the second and third rounds as well (even though he was extremely nervous about the knobbly knitted sweater he submitted) and then the actual in-person trials can commence.
Somehow Derek muddles through the dance-off, the swordfighting round (why is that still a thing?) with the other fifteen Alphas that Stiles has narrowed it down to.
Stiles watches from the sidelines, marking up a form intently, and his eyes meet Derek’s just the once, a combination of awe and disbelief on his features.
Derek beats his opponent.
In the final rounds, where they finally get to talk, Derek gets sat down with Stiles and three other Alphas. He’s the youngest by far, and it’s possible that the guy on the end owns his own private island. The other Alphas dominate the conversation, trying their best to prove to Stiles how witty and intelligent they are, how varied and passionate about their interests.
Derek doesn’t know what to say, he just ends up smiling stupidly at Stiles while Stiles talks about the harms of deforestation, and “Yeah it’s not so great for the future of your island paradise, dude,” and it’s just so nice to hear his voice again that he’s struck dumb.
The hour is very soon up, and Derek hates whoever made up all these formalities, but he does get one handshake with Stiles, and Stiles’ fingers linger on his wrist, hand warm in his own.
“Derek,” Stiles says, voice heavy with some emotion, Derek isn’t sure which. Is he surprised Derek went to trial for him? That Derek wants him in this way?
“I just want you to be happy,” Derek blurts out. “And I can’t offer you an island or fancy things but I—"
"Time’s up, Alpha Hale,” the woman to his right says, clicking her heels against the floor.
“I really liked your souffle!” Stiles calls out wistfully as Derek is being led away, and Derek can’t help but smile.
The last event is the mating run, Derek and the two others (apparently island guy didn’t make the cut) giving each other hard stares as they are led to a trail set up in the Preserve.
The whistle goes off and Derek takes off in a sprint, quickly darting away from the others, making his way towards the lake. He has no idea when Stiles will be introduced to the trail, or even if Stiles can track his scent, or if he would even want to, but he just keeps running, desperately hoping.
The night goes on, and Derek reaches the lake, staring out at the glassy water when he’s suddenly tackled from the side.
“You great hulking idiot,” Stiles says, face muffled in Derek’s chest.
“What?” Derek is a little confused, but it’s hard to think with an armful of Stiles pinning him to the forest floor.
“Of course I’d pick you,” Stiles says, sitting up and then he yanks Derek into a messy, heated kiss. “Besides, you’re gonna make me that souffle anytime I want, right, ‘cos that was delicious."
"Yeah,” Derek breathes out happily and reaches to kiss him back. “Anytime you want."