Work Text:
Laura tells him it’s cowardly and unromantic to confess feelings over text, but too bad. Derek can’t think of anything more terrifying than showing up on Stiles’ doorstep (conveniently, the apartment right below Derek’s) to tell him to his face. And Derek wants to know, okay? Has to know. He needs closure. He can’t keep second-guessing every microsecond of every interaction with Stiles, trying to guess how he’s feeling, and he can’t keep hoping like this. He’ll go insane. Stiles has been his neighbor/friend/hopeless crush for almost six months already, and Derek definitely can’t take another six.
Once he’s decided to do it, he spends pretty much all day crafting the perfect text. It’s surprisingly challenging.
The final draft is two sentences long: Do you want to date me? I think we should date.
It’s kind of awkwardly abrupt, he knows that, but it’s the best it’s going to get, and it’s clear. That’s the main thing.
He sends the text around seven in the evening, when he knows Stiles will be home from work and probably working on his novel.
He spends roughly the next hour hyperventilating in his bedroom. The hour after that is spent alternately hyperventilating in his living room and obsessively checking his phone for a reply. There is none.
Which… is a bit concerning. Stiles always texts back immediately. His phone’s practically glued to his hand.
He waits another hour. When he still doesn’t get a reply by ten, he starts getting concerned. What if Stiles is bleeding out on his kitchen floor? What if he’s being held hostage? What if he’s accidentally locked himself in his closet, or handcuffed himself to something as some kind of experiment and then failed to pick the lock? Stiles would definitely do something like that.
So he goes downstairs to Stiles’ door. He needs three tries to knock; the first two times, he gets this close to the door and then runs for the stairs, then reminds himself Stiles could be dying in there and makes himself go back.
When he knocks, Stiles just yells, “It’s open!” To Derek’s relief, he doesn’t sound like he’s dying.
So Derek comes in. Stiles is hunched over his laptop in the breakfast nook in his kitchen, typing furiously. He’s got his glasses on, one earbud in, and the sleeves of his navy sweater rolled up to the elbow. As always, he looks so casually, effortlessly attractive that Derek doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, where to look or how to stand without telegraphing his feelings everywhere.
He settles for nodding to the door and saying, “That’s really not safe. I could’ve been anyone.”
Stiles finally stops typing and looks up at him. “Yeah, except you have a really distinctive knock. It’s kind of impatient and grumpy but tentative at the same time.”
Derek blushes (he blushes! at Stiles recognizing him by his knock! ugh.) and grumbles, “Well, you still left your door unlocked.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mom. I was just a little preoccupied. I was waiting for the elevator and I had this amazing idea for my book, so after a two-week dry spell, I’m finally working on it again— Anyway, I’m glad you came by. I actually wanted to run something by you.”
“Okay,” Derek says. He has no idea where this is going. Is it about Stiles’ book? He’s starting to suspect Stiles hasn’t read his text yet, but the agony of not knowing for sure is making his palms sweat buckets. He sticks his hands in his pockets.
“Okay,” Stiles nods and takes a deep breath. “So, there’s this woman I work with. Kira. She’s super sweet and I know she’s single—”
Derek’s heart starts sinking before Stiles has even finished the sentence.
“—and I know you’re single, and, well, I think you’d like her. Maybe, if you wanted, I could set something up?”
He definitely hasn’t read the text, then.
“Look,” Stiles goes on when Derek doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say, to be honest. “I know you don’t seem to… date, or whatever… At least not that I’ve seen! But. I know you’ve been kind of lonely, and that’s why you’ve been hanging out at my place all the time, and Kira was asking me if I knew anyone nice, and I just thought, you know, maybe I could help.” He shoots Derek a smile that Derek can’t quite interpret. “That’s what friends do, right?”
Derek swallows. Stiles is so not in love with him that he’s trying to get him to go on a date with someone else.
He feels stupid. So stupid. He can’t believe he sent that stupid text.
Wait.
Stiles hasn’t read the text yet. Stiles hasn’t read it.
Derek could delete it off Stiles’ phone.
It’d be like he never sent it.
“I need to use your bathroom,” Derek says, spinning on his heel.
“Uh, okay,” Stiles says behind him, sounding a little confused.
Hands shaking, Derek passes the bathroom and goes through to Stiles’ bedroom. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. He’s never been in Stiles’ bedroom before. He’s never snooped on anyone’s phone, either. He feels a little like a spy, and a little like his heart is going to pound out of his chest.
Stiles’ phone is probably in here, forgotten on the charger. If it’s not, Derek is probably going to move to a different apartment and change his phone number, maybe also his name for good measure.
Stiles’ room is dark, and it takes him a minute for his eyes to pick out the faint gleam of a screen on Stiles’ bedside table. His phone. Thank god.
And sure enough, when he turns it on, there’s his text, next to one from Stiles’ dad asking about their lunch plans for Sunday. Derek swipes right, and a keypad appears. Fuck. He was hoping Stiles wouldn’t have a password, but duh. Sheriff’s kid. He’s not going to leave his phone unlocked. He swipes left again, and the texts are gone, and—
And Stiles’ lock screen is a photo of Derek.
At first he can’t place it, it’s just him in front of a red wall, smiling a little at something off-screen. But then he recognizes the framed picture in the background. It’s Cora’s apartment. Cora’s nineteenth birthday party. He and Stiles were both there that night. He must’ve taken a photo of Derek when Derek wasn’t looking. Taken the photo and… set it as his wallpaper?
And that’s about when Stiles comes in and says, “Derek? What are you—” and then, “Oh,” and then, “Well, this is awkward.”
Like an idiot, Derek just freezes like that, crouched beside Stiles’ bed, still holding Stiles’ phone, which, after a few seconds’ inactivity, goes dark again.
There’s no chance Stiles doesn’t know exactly what he was doing. Now Derek’s definitely going to have to move to a different apartment. Maybe a different state.
For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Then Stiles’ eyes drift downwards to the phone in Derek’s hand, and Derek blurts, “I’m sorry, I… I shouldn’t have come in here or tried to get into your phone, it’s a huge invasion of privacy—”
Stiles takes a few hesitant steps into the room and sits down on the edge of his bed. “It doesn’t really seem like the sort of thing you’d do,” he says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, avoiding Derek’s eyes. “I don’t know where to start, with how creepy you think I am or why you were trying to snoop.”
Derek groans and finally remembers himself enough to put Stiles’ phone down. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I actually wasn’t trying to snoop. I… sent you an embarrassing text.”
“So you were trying to delete it.”
Derek nods.
Stiles relaxes at that. “Okay. That’s a little more forgivable. But, dude, how embarrassing could it be? Cora’s already showed me your baby pics and your middle school pics where you had braces, including that one of you in a bunny costume for Halloween. It doesn’t get much worse than that. Were you drunk-texting me or something?” He leans in a little, squinting. “You don’t look drunk.”
“You should just read the text,” Derek sighs, because at this point, there’s probably no way he’s going to stop Stiles from seeing it. “Then you’ll understand why I wanted to delete it.” Maybe it’s for the best. Actually, probably it is. At least now it’ll be out in the open and he won’t have to wonder all the time if Stiles has figured out how Derek feels about him.
Stiles picks up his phone, then sets it back down again. “No lie, I’m insanely curious now, but… if you really don’t want me to see it, I’ll let you delete it. It’ll be like it never happened.”
Derek can’t help but feel grateful for the offer. Still… “Thanks, but… how about you read it and then consider my mortification punishment enough for trying to break into your phone?”
Stiles smirks. “Deal. I mean, you’ve been really cool about the whole me-having-a-crush-on-you thing, so I can be cool about whatever you just sent me. We’ll be even.”
Derek barely even registers Stiles picking up his phone and poking at it. Stiles has frozen his brain. Did he just say—? “Wait, you—”
Stiles speaks over him, waving his phone around. “Okay, wow. Is this a prank? And you were going to delete it because you decided it was too mean or something?”
“No, I wouldn’t— I meant it. Mean it,” Derek says hastily. “I just—with the whole Kira thing— You don’t like me. You were trying to set me up with someone else.”
Stiles throws his hands up. “I was trying to be selfless! And noble! I didn’t think you liked me! Wait. Wait a minute.” He scooches a little closer to Derek, and Derek focuses on remembering to breathe. “This text is for real? You like me back?”
“Uh,” Derek says. He’s a little distracted by the way Stiles is looking at him, all intense and expectant. “Yeah. But—you like me?”
“Duh!” Stiles waves his arms around. “Are you kidding? Why do you think I showed up on your doorstep the day you moved in with a cake and a bottle of champagne? You think I do that for everyone who moves in?” He licks his lips and inches a little closer. “Derek, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a shitty baker, I almost never shell out for expensive booze, and I rarely leave my apartment. I don’t know anybody in this entire building except you. Well, and the landlady, but she’s like, eighty, and I don’t exactly want to make out with her, so—”
Derek kisses him.
He doesn’t overthink it, he just moves up into Stiles’ space and cups Stiles’ jaw like he’s been thinking about for months and kisses him.
“Mmm,” Stiles mumbles appreciatively, wiggling closer to the edge of the bed, his hands landing on Derek’s broad shoulders. “We’re stupid. We should’ve been doing this ages ago.”
“Agreed,” Derek says, and goes back to kissing him just because he can.
*
Two months later, Derek moves in downstairs.