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Derek never imagined that college would be like this. His major was something to do with anthropology (no, he doesn't know what he's doing with his life), his dorm room smelled like a locker room half the time and a fairy princess land the other half (yes, he spent way too much on febreeze), and his roommate was always hanging around with his girlfriend (no, he was not jealous).
Scott honestly wasn't that bad. He was a sophomore doing his pre-veterinarian studies, and his girlfriend was a clever (if not too nice) brunette with a darling smile and a passion for weapons and her business degree. Yeah, she was more than a little scary. Usually, the couple didn't bother him. Scott and Allison never asked him to take time away from the dorm room, and they always did their sexual business somewhere that wasn't his living space. No, his problem was with Scott's best friend.
The little shit called himself Stiles, and he was an absolute nutjob, not to mention an asshole on the side. Stiles spent most of his time lounging on Derek and Scott's futon, dominating their TV, or kicking their asses at foosball. He was witty, smart, and devoted his time to elementary education. He was also annoyingly hyper and happy, always ready to shoot an insult in Derek's direction or hang around longer than necessary just to spite him. Scott said that Stiles hung around so much because his roommate, some dude called Danny or Isaac or both, sexiled him a lot, but Derek thought that maybe Stiles was alienated from his own dorm room because he just seemed to get under your skin no matter what.
He was constantly grading the papers of his elementary kids or moaning about a language test or lobbing a book about ancient folklore in the general direction of the trashcan ("I'm minoring in it because I enjoy it, Derek! You have no right to question my life decisions, Mr. I-don't-know-what-I-want-to-do-so-I'll-pick-the-#1-most-useless-major"), and it drove Derek up the freaking walls. He was always around with his stupid mouth and stupid moles and dumb flippy hair and nose. He tried not to think about it.
Derek honestly didn't know too much about Stiles's life before college. The boy wasn't too forthcoming with his past information, but Scott was happy to fill in the blanks. Like Derek, Stiles had almost no family left. Except for his father, the rest were dead or estranged, living far away, and Stiles still felt the cut of his losses every day. Derek could relate. But while Stiles had been unpopular in his past high school, Derek had been the opposite, and always played first line instead of benchwarmer. Maybe because of their similarities and differences, Stiles and Derek didn't really get along too well, and Scott always took care to make sure he was usually in the dorm room to mediate.
Which was why, when Scott had said he was leaving for Christmas Break, Derek found himself protesting. "The whole thing?" Derek had whined, voice high and pleading.
"Yes the whole thing. Stiles will be leaving on Christmas Eve, but there's a good chance he might stop by for things he left here or because he's bored out of his gourd." Scott had warned, and Derek had groaned.
"Please stay until Stiles leaves."
"I don't get what your problem is with him," Scott had said as he shoved another wrinkled shirt into his suitcase. "He's more like you than anyone I've ever met." Derek had just glared. "Besides, I doubt he'll try to spend more time with you than necessary."
Which was also why, the day after Scott left, Derek was surprised to open his dorm room door after a small burst of knocking to see Stiles standing on the other side, huge sweater dwarfing his frame, tissue balled up in his hand, and looking awful in general. "Stiles?" Derek asked, looking around to check the hallway for signs of life. There weren't any. "What are you doing here?"
The boy sniffed, fist tightening on his wad of tissues. When Derek checked his other hand, he saw a plastic bag hanging down, which looked like it had a box of tissues and a bottle of some sort in it. When he talked, his voice was garbled by the congestion in his nose. "Isaac kicked me out again. His girlfriend and him were trying a threesome today." He took a moment to raise his arm and cough horribly into his sweater elbow, body bending with the force. "Sorry, I didn't have anywhere else to go."
Derek looked around the hallway again, appalled by the fact that no one had made sure that Stiles had made it to the dorm safely. The boy's dorm was a whole building away, and— "You shouldn't be up and around, you need to be in bed. Come in," Derek opened the door up wider and hustled the boy in. Stiles shuffled to his normal spot on the futon, paused to have another coughing fit, and then sat down heavily. Derek realized with a start that this was the first time he had seen Stiles with glasses on, and it was admittedly adorable.
"Here," Derek took the pillows off of Scott's bed and took them over to Stiles, who was already spreading his legs across the piece of furniture, but still sitting up. He smiled weakly at Derek before placing the pillows behind his back and snuggling with his knees in his sweater, stretching the damn thing out. "Take this too, before you ruin your damn sweater." Derek tossed his warmest blanket to Stiles, who took it gratefully and spread it out over himself. He took out a tissue and blew, then wiped his already raw nose and upper lip with it. He had another sporadic coughing fit before reaching back into the plastic bag.
"Thanks," he said, voice rough. "I haven't been this sick in a while. Usually I can avoid it getting this bad when I'm at home, but when we have tests and such, I dever rebeber to sleeb." He tried to sniff, but only a tiny snuffle came out. "Great, and'dow I can't breath thro' by dose." His fingers curled onto something and he pulled out a small jar of vapo rub. When he opened it, Derek could smell the cherry, and he watched as Stiles struggled to apply it to his back. Derek walked over and sat next to Stiles on the futon.
"Here," he said again, voice gentler than before, and he took some of the rub onto his fingers and began to spread it onto Stiles's chest. The boy moaned as his sinuses began to clear, and when he doubled over in another coughing fit, Derek pulled up his sweater and applied the rub to his back.
"Thanks," Stiles wheezed in between coughs, before doubling over again and losing it into his elbow.
"Do you have cough medicine on you?" Derek asked, and Stiles nodded abortively.
"I already—" cough "took" cough cough "some, though," cue another coughing fit. When he finished, he blew his nose heartily and winced at the pain, then checked his tissue and winced again at the slight traces of blood. "Trashcan?" He asked hopefully, and Derek dragged one over so Stiles could place his tissue in it.
"I think you should consider taking some more." Derek stated, and Stiles opened his mouth to argue—Derek had seen that arguing face more times than he could count—but couldn't say what he wanted to before he was off in another fit, then nodding his head uncontrollably when he couldn't catch his breath during the coughing. Derek grabbed the bottle of cough medicine Stiles had brought along in his plastic bag. It was strong stuff, and he checked the label before pouring some into the cap and handing it to the boy. Stiles tipped it back and swallowed hard, it obviously burned going down. "You should get some sleep," Derek said.
Stiles nodded, then paused for a moment. "Could you put some more vapo rub on me?"
Derek agreed, pulling out the tiny tub and dipping his fingers in again, smearing it on Stiles's chest first, then his back. After he finished it seemed like Stiles could breathe more easily, and laid down on the futon. "Get some sleep, okay?" He said, checking the time. It was nearing 11pm, which was honestly Derek's bedtime too.
"Okay," Stiles hummed, and Derek shut off the lights. He was only woken up a couple of times during the night because of Stiles's troubles, but he didn't mind reapplying the cherry vapo rub again before sending Stiles back to sleep.
When Derek woke up, it was at 5am to Stiles singing "Ninety-Nine bottle of beer on the wall" and tapping the side of his cough medicine bottle with a silver spoon.
"78 bottles of beer on the wall, 78 bottles of beer..." Stiles hummed. It wasn't very loud, but it was loud enough.
"Stiles, you need to rest." Derek said. He reluctantly got out of bed and went to sit with Stiles. He tried to push him down but instead of laying back down on the futon, he brushed his damp fingertips on Derek's jawbone.
"You're'so pretty," he said simply. "Dark. Nice." He blinked slowly. "My throat hurts. But you're nice. And sometimes growly." Stiles smiled a bright smile.
"How much of this did you drink?" Derek asked, prying the bottled from Stiles's fingers. Most of it was gone, and Derek could smell the cherry on Stiles's breath.
"Jus'some. My throat hurt," he whined, eyes big. He suddenly stared deep into Derek's eyes intensely, and then promptly sneezed in Derek's face. Stiles's expression crumpled and tears prickled in his eyes. "I'm sorry!" He wailed, not even bothering to wipe at his runny nose. "I didn't mean to! Now you're going to get sick and it's my fault and I won't be able to take care of you because I'll be sneezing!" Stiles sneezed again as if to prove his point, then wiped his snot onto his hand. It dripped a little onto his sweater. Very charming, Derek thought with a grimace.
"It's okay, Stiles." Derek tried to calm him.
"No! No, no no, I have to take care of you! You're so beautiful and wonderful and this awful cherry makes me feel weird and my snot won't stop I'm like a waterfall Derek and you have emerald eyes that are much prettier than my snot and I can't stop coughing there's even blood look I have some in this tissue Derek I can't breathe I want to feel okay I'm never I'm never I'm—" Stiles stopped suddenly, tears and snot making their way down his face, into his mouth, off his chin. "I'm never going to get better, am I? I won't ever be able to take care of you." His lip wobbled and Derek was terrified that he would go off on another crying rant, so he quickly intervened.
"Stiles, shh. It's okay. You're feeling a little weird because you took too much cough medicine, but I promise you'll be fine in a few hours." Derek took a few tissues from the almost-empty box from the coffee table that he was currently sitting on. "Here, let me." He gently wiped the snot and tears from Stiles's face, and he whimpered whenever Derek hit a spot raw from all the blowing. His lips were dry and cracked from his coughing fits, and when it finally occurred to Derek to touch Stiles's forehead, he found it kind of ridiculously hot. "Oh, you're burning up," he fretted. He grabbed a glass and filled it with ice water and made Stiles drink some. He didn't really know what to do—he was a fucking anthropology major, for chrissake, why couldn't he have picked something more helpful, like nursing?—but after Stiles had finished he wet a washcloth with cold water and pulled the futon back so it became a bed. He helped Stiles arrange his pillows—the boy kept chatting despite his raw throat—and then tucked blankets over him.
"I'm too hot," he complained, but Derek just made him take two aspirin and rewet the washcloth. He wiped it on Stiles's sweaty forehead, and marveled at how his usually styled hair was currently plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Can you put more rub on?" Stiles asked childishly, eyes wide and hopeful. He was still sniffing profusely from his runny nose though, and Derek had taken to making the boy hold a tissue to his nose.
"You don't need more," Derek said amusedly.
"But I like it when you rub my back."
"Then how about I do that instead?" Derek laid down next to Stiles, with Stiles facing away, and rubbed the boy's back through his sweater. His body was radiating heat and sweat, and Derek hoped the fever would go down soon. He didn't know how Stiles might react to an ER, especially with his fevered mind.
"You're perfect, Der-Bear," Stiles mumbled almost incoherently, sniffing loudly and wetly.
After a few minutes it became clear by his snot-induced snoring that Stiles had clearly fallen asleep, and Derek rubbed his back a few minutes longer before leaning over to look at the boy. His mouth was wide open so he could breathe, and his face was smashed into the pillow. The cold washcloth was half-on, half-off his forehead, and his cheeks had two blooms of red that indicated his flushed fever. A small trickle of drool or snot was hanging from his cheek and pooling into the pillow, but it was Scott's so Derek could honestly care less.
He fumbled slowly in his picked for his phone, pulled it out stealthily, and snapped a few pictures. Although he was sick, Stiles looked incredibly adorable with his glasses strewn to the side and his hair sticking up in odd places.
Derek shook his head and took the moment to run to a nearby campus shop—which was like a gas station without the gas—to pick up some more tissues, a huge bottle of hand sanitizer, and a can of disinfectant spray. He used it when he got back to his dorm, then gave himself a few pumps of sanitizer before setting it on the coffee table in front of the futon. As Derek took an extra dose of Vitamin C, he thought maybe, just maybe, he didn't hate Stiles as much as he thought he did.
The next day Stiles was remarkably better. His fever had broken sometime through the night and his 14-hour deep sleep, and although he still looked flushed all he really had to deal with was an incredibly runny nose and remnants of his cough.
"I'm so sorry," Stiles apologized again, then coughed sharply and wetly into his elbow, facing it away from where Derek was sitting on the futon next to him. He coughed a few more times, then cleared his throat painfully. He paused again to wipe his nose with his hand, then pumped some sanitizer into them. "If you get sick I'll feel so bad."
"My family has a good immune system," Derek shrugged. "I should be good."
"Fuck," Stiles swore as he blew his nose violently and squinted disgustedly into his tissue. "My nose is so dry I'm blowing more blood than snot!" He sniffed loudly as he tossed it into the trash and grabbed another to repeat the process. "God, I still feel awful. At least I don't have to drive down to Beacon Hills for another few days." He gave some more wet coughs. "God, my dad would go insane if he knew I got sick." Stiles rolled his eyes, leaned back, and tossed the wad into the trash. "He thinks I need to go to the hospital for everything, but they can literally do nothing for a cold." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I seriously can't thank you enough though, man, for letting me stay here and for helping me through this. I haven't had a cold that bad in a while. The flu I can deal with, but this? It's so much maintenance, and I had nowhere else to go."
Derek shrugged, a little color brushing his cheekbones. "It was fine. You're here most of the time anyways."
"Yeah, not bad for an anthropology major," Stiles smiled. "No but seriously man, tha-ah-ahchoo!" He finished the sentence off with a sneeze and another wad of tissues. "Fuck," he griped, then rubbed some more sanitizer into his hands. "I can't even thank you properly."
Derek scooted closer to him in the futon, reaching a hand up to cup Stiles's face. "I think you can," Derek said, and pressed one kiss to Stiles jawbone, one to his cheek, one to the corner of his mouth, and one—
Stiles jerked away quickly to cough nastily into his balled-up fist, blow his nose again—it was entirely red and raw and adorable—before leaning closer again. "I'm sorry, I just totally killed the mood, didn't I?"
Derek chuckled. "If I could be attracted to you snotting and drooling all over me, I think I can handle a little bit of congestion." He swooped in and pressed a firm kiss into Stiles's chapped lips, and yeah, maybe it wasn't the most romantic or healthiest kiss ever (confirmed by the fact that Stiles once again sneezed in Derek's face in the middle of it), but it was the start of a real relationship, and Derek had to admit that it was totally and completely theirs.