Chapter Text
“Lydia, you know how much I hate blind dates,” Stiles says with a wince as he watches Lydia prance around in the third dress she’s tried on. “It always ends badly. The other person either decides that my endearing awkwardness and flailing isn’t so endearing and they bail before their meal even arrives.”
“You make it sound like that happens every time, Stiles,” Lydia tells him with a stern look, their eyes meeting through the long mirror that Lydia is using to check her outfits. “It happened once. And opinion?” Her eyebrows raises at him expectantly.
He frowns. “What are you going for tonight?” he asks. “And yeah, it happened once, but that pretty much spurned me from blind dates since. You know me, Mr. One Night Stand.”
“You had a one night stand, and now you’re obsessing over him,” Lydia adds. “Also, I’m going for sophisticated and sexy tonight.”
“Then that dress is perfect for it,” Stiles answers slightly reluctantly because when did get dubbed the girlfriend that helps Lydia pick out outfits? Isn’t that what Allison was for? Stiles doesn’t expect Lydia to pull an all-nighter with him to play video games and eat the most processed food on earth, does he? That’s what Scott is for. “I’m not obsessed with Obscene Stubble Guy.”
Lydia gives him a look that was part pity and part get-your-shit-together-Stiles, a mix that Stiles knew well coming from her face. “You’re obsessed with him, and you were the drunk when the two of you met. So drunk in fact that you can’t remember anything about him except for his stubble.”
“It was great stubble,” Stiles says defensively. “And eyebrows. He had very expressive eyebrows. I’m sure if I saw him again, I’d be able to recognize him…why are we going on this date again?”
Lydia has now transferred her attention to stomp over to Stiles’ room. After freshman year of college in dorms, they both decided that people are idiots, and that Stiles and Lydia suck at sharing with other people. So they went for the obvious solution and sophomore year, they rented an apartment together. Two rooms, two bathrooms, and perfect for just the two of them. Their rooms were far enough apart that if they did have a guest over, they weren’t disturbing the other roommate. They fought and bickered like a couple, but they are best friends, so it works somehow.
Also, something Stiles has learned about Lydia since moving in with her, she looks just as beautiful without makeup as she does with.
They’re now in Stiles’ room with Lydia rummaging through his dresser and closet, picking out his outfit for the night, and Stiles is on his bed, sprawled, and waiting for an answer to his question.
“I met her a few days ago,” Lydia finally says as she glares a drawer full of Stiles’ plaid shirts like they personally offended her by saying that her math equation on something or another (honestly, Stiles couldn’t exactly stay focused when Lydia was talking about the equations she made up because, like what does it mean? But if he asks that, then he has to focus even longer, so now he just nods along like he knows exactly what she’s saying, which he does…about 20% of it) wasn’t even that impressive, which they always are to her professors.
“We were at the coffee shop,” she continues with the story. She seems to have picked out a shirt and is now looking for pants that don’t have holes in the crotch. Good luck with Stiles snorts in his head. “And she had forgotten her wallet, so I offered to pay for her. Then we sat down with our coffees and talked.” Lydia has a small smile on her face. “She’s older, but she actually seemed interested when I was talking about math. And yes, Stiles, that’s aimed at you. Don’t think I don’t notice the way your eyes glaze over when I talk about my equations like I’m the most boring human on Earth.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, pleading the fifth on that one because not something he wants to get into with Lydia. Something he also learned about her from sharing an apartment together? She was fucking frightening. More so than he originally hypothesized. “Wait,” Stiles says, sitting up. “Describe her. I might know who she is.”
“Stiles, just because you work there, doesn’t mean you know everyone,” Lydia snorts, but then smiles smugly when she finds pants that don’t have any holes and that she is actually satisfied with how they look. She throws the clothes at him before turning around to let him change. “But since I know you won’t give up, I’ll humor you. She has dark hair, she’s tall, gorgeous, has these really intriguing hazel eyes, and is really snarky. She reminds me of you except for more graceful, more mature, and less silly, I suppose.”
“Rude,” Stiles mumbles as he pulls up his pants. “Dear god, Lydia. These pants are squeezing my favorite part of me.”
Lydia rolls her eyes at that, ignoring him, so Stiles continues on with their conversation. “Yeah, I think I do actually know her.” He thinks more about. “Americano with a dash of caramel and a hint of sugar?”
Stiles tries not to explode with pride when Lydia looks slightly impressed when she nods, signaling that he is correct. He ruins the moment by pumping his fist in the air out of victory.
“Her name is Laura,” she finally says.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know how horrible I am with names. Anyway, that doesn’t explain why I’m being forced to tag along?”
“We were talking, and she was saying that her brother is a pathetic loser, who never leaves the house anymore, and his tortured soul act is driving her nuts. I told her about my pathetic roommate, who would rather sit in front of the TV all night, shoveling chow mein in his mouth instead of going out to a party and having fun.” Lydia takes a deep breath and sighs. “So we decided that maybe we should set up our pathetic loser-roommate/brother together. Plus, Laura refuses to go out while he brother stays in.”
Stiles groans. “You’re setting me up with a grumpy old man?”
“He’s like two years older than you, Stiles,” Lydia snaps before turning around and smiling. “Damn I’m good.”
Stiles goes into his bathroom to assess Lydia’s outfit choice, and it actually wasn’t bad. He frowns at himself in the mirror; the dark red pants that are way too tight actually look good on him, and the black V-neck that he has no idea where it even came from goes well with his freakishly pale skin. He runs a hand through his hair once and sighs before going back in his room to pull on his shoes while Lydia is in her room to grab hers.
He meets her by the door, grabbing his wallet, keys, and cellphone and shoving them all in his pockets. She struts out in her heels and tosses her curled, red hair over one shoulder, shooting him a smile. He holds his arm out for her. “Ready, my lady?” he asks, acting proper.
She rolls her eyes with a smile at him. “Come on, loser.”
“Derek, you have to go,” Laura insists.
“I don’t,” he mumbles, glaring at his outfit. Laura is making him wear a dark red shirt and his normal black pants, but it’s the red that bothers him the most. Why red? What was wrong with his first choice, a black t-shirt? “It’s your date.”
“Yes, but she has a loser roommate, who shares some traits with you,” she hisses at him and then looks at the mirror again to fix her hair. Derek watches her thinking that she is really nervous for this date.
“Yeah, what’s that?” he snaps because as much as he wants his sister to be happy, he doesn’t want to go out on a blind date.
“You’re both hermits and pathetic,” she snaps back with a glare to him. “Please, Derek? Just go. I need you with me, okay?”
That softens Derek up. It may be unhealthy, but the two of them don’t go a lot of places without the other since the fire. They were all each other had left, and the separation anxiety they experienced was uncomfortable at best. Derek’s glare almost withers away. “Fine,” he sighs.
“I know dating has been hard since your one night stand,” she says softly, hand on his shoulder.
He shrugs her hand off, not wanting to talk about Stiles with her. He was completely drunk when they met, and Derek would be surprised if the kid even remembered having sex with him. “Forget about it,” he mumbles, grabbing his stuff. “You ready? Can we leave now?”
She frowns at him, reaching a hand out. “Hey, I know how hard it is, okay? I have my own set of trust issues over here, but this girl? She’s great. I have a really good feeling about this. For both of us.”
Derek rolls his eyes and doesn’t mention how much worse his trust issues are than Laura’s because Laura doesn’t know the half of it. Plus, his encounter with Stiles didn’t exactly help that at all.
“Let’s go,” he finally says, taking her arm and pulling her out of the apartment. The restaurant is close to their apartment, so they walk, admiring the lights of the city. New York City had been their only option after the fire. They have some distant family here – the only family they have left – who took in the orphans.
They arrive after a ten minute walk, walking inside to sit down at the table. They arrived first, waiting for the other two of their party to join. That’s when Derek sees him. His entire body stiffens when he recognizes the boy’s face, and he stops breathing. Just staring.
He’s just as beautiful as he was that night at the bar. Derek’s breathing shallows out as he remembers the way the kid’s hands moved and how flushed his face was while they were having sex or how he never stopped talking even during climax.
The kid standing at the front door of the restaurant with his arm over a redhead’s shoulders? The kid is Stiles.
“Der, you okay?” Laura asks and then looks up, her face lighting up as she waves someone over. She stands up, and Derek can’t help but watch as Stiles and his girlfriend walk closer to the table before Laura hugs his girlfriend. That’s when Derek puts two and two together. This is Lydia, Laura’s Lydia. And Lydia’s hermit roommate is Stiles.
Fuck.
Stiles is smiling at Laura, shaking her hand as she introduces himself. He runs a hand through his hair and then glances at Derek before looking at Lydia. Then his entire head turns to stare at Derek, eyes wide as a blush creeps up his cheek before he rushes to stare at his shoes.
Fuck.
“Stiles,” Laura says, sitting back down next to Derek. “This is my brother, Derek.”
“Hey,” Stiles says, his entire face smiling at Derek like it had That Night, but this time he is completely sober. “How’s it going?”
Derek tries to say something, but it just comes out as grunt, and he’s glaring. How can Stiles just pretend nothing happened between them? He obviously recognized him. Well, two can play that game.