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Stiles sighed as he trudged down the street, feet heavy and his back sweaty under his plaid shirt. He could feel the t-shirt underneath sticking to his skin and he grimaced, swiping at his forehead with his sleeve before ducking into some kind of shop that sold... lamps? He approached the bored looking girl behind the counter, introduced himself and asked to speak to the manager or owner.
"They're not here,” she said in a Kardashian-influenced tone.
"Can I leave a resume to pass on to them? My availability is on the c—"
"Sure,” she cut him off, holding out her hand. Stiles handed over his resume and gave her a tight lipped smile that she didn't even see because she was turned around and stuffing his resume into a folder where he was certain it wouldn't be found for months.
"Thanks,” he muttered under his breath and left, making a mental note that this stop was a dead end.
Just like his life, it seemed. Here he was, fresh out of college with all the hopes and dreams of someone looking to make a mark on the big, bad world. Unfortunately, the promise of that dream was something sold along with his history degree.
"Should've done a fucking business degree,” he grumbled to himself, letting the bitterness of his situation get to him. He took a deep breath and kept going.
Returning home to Beacon Hills wasn't the worst thing he could have done. He got along with his dad and it meant he got to see his best friend more than just on holidays again but he didn't have a job and he thought he'd do amazing things when he graduated—live in a big city with a sufficient job to pay his bills, maybe have an apartment with a roommate. Normal things.
Thirty resumes into his day and he was no closer to a job and he was at the end of the street. Downtown Beacon Hills had changed since the last time he was home and there were lots of new businesses but so far he was coming up empty with any prospects.
He was ready to give up and try the next street when he saw a bright red door nestled into the corner of the building on the avenue side. He glanced up at the sign and shrugged. Triskelion was all the sign said, with a three-spiraled Celtic symbol.
"Whatever,” Stiles said to himself and walked in, blinking at the adjustment from the bright sunlight to the darker inside. A quiet bell tinkled gently as he let the door close behind him. It was a tattoo shop, very neat and low-key, and seemingly empty. Stiles looked around, stopped dead in his tracks as he looked around at the amazing line art on the walls. Every stroke was so sure and confident, even in the pictures Stiles couldn't tell what they were.
"Help you?”
Stiles looked up, startled. He hadn't heard the guy step into the room. He pulled out a resume and prepared himself for his pitch. When he approached the far counter he paused and frowned.
"Lahey?”
"What's up Stiles?” Isaac replied with an easy smile. He was leaning up against the counter casually, putting off a comfortableness with himself that he definitely didn't have in high school while they were on the lacrosse team together.
"Just looking for a job,” Stiles said, waving his resume. "Are you the artist?” He gestured to the walls.
Isaac nodded. "Not what's on the walls, but I tattoo here.”
"They're great,” Stiles replied, looking around again.
"Yeah, they are,” Isaac agreed. Stiles got lost in the images again before Isaac cleared his throat. "What kind of job are you looking for?”
Stiles looked back and shook his head. "Right, yeah. At this point anything, really. People aren't exactly fighting to hire guys with bachelor degrees, though.” Isaac just looked back at him curiously. "Anyway, I should get going.”
Isaac held up a hand. "Wait here.” He disappeared through a door behind the counter, leaving Stiles alone again.
A couple minutes later he came back, talking with someone behind him.
"Just meet him, okay? Stiles? This is Derek. He's one of the owners,” Isaac said as he stepped out of the doorway, revealing what was probably the hottest guy Stiles had ever seen in real life.
"Isaac, what is this?” Derek asked impatiently, ignoring Stiles.
"Laura said we need someone for the front,” Isaac said with a grin that Stiles saw as a bit smug. He looked at Derek who clenched his jaw and tried to stare Isaac down. When that didn't work he finally looked at Stiles.
"Uh, hi?" Stiles said, his mouth dry.
Derek studied Stiles' face intently without saying a word. Stiles resisted the urge to look to Isaac for help and stared back, raising his chin and standing up straight to appear confident and able.
Something in Derek's eyes changed for a second, maybe it was a trick of the light, then he looked at Isaac. "You train him." He turned without another word and disappeared through the door, not quite slamming it but pretty close.
Stiles glanced at Isaac who was grinning. "Did I miss something?”
"Yeah, but that's just Derek. Welcome to Triskelion."
Stiles took a deep breath. "Okay."