Chapter Text
This one time, at lacrosse camp...
Okay so it really didn’t start like that. In fact, when Derek first encountered Stiles his initial assessment was not, shall we say, favourable.
The skinny kid who he’d been paired up with to run the clinics for the 8-to-10-year-olds was loud, and abrasive. The worst part was that the kids seemed to love him, and therefore ignored Derek and his (really quite reasonable) instructions and requests for decorum.
“Call me Stiles, dude!” just tossed him the goalie’s crosse, told him to stand near the goal and started tossing balls in his general direction, coaching the kids through their swings and stifling laughter when Derek proved exactly why he played offense and was kept out of the goal at all costs when he’d played with his home team back at school.
An hour later, when the pre-adolescents had scattered (it was amazing how fast they could move when the dinner bell rang, considering how sluggish their movements had been when running drills just two minutes earlier) Derek was helping Stiles clear up the equipment when the skinny guy started talking... again. Though, truth be told, Derek wasn’t entirely certain that he’d actually stopped talking for more than a few seconds at a time since they’d met.
“Hey, man, look, thanks for letting the kids get some shots in - I think you really improved their morale, if they can get a goal past a dude like you then their skills are pretty good, right?”
Derek stared at him for a moment, before his brow furrowed. He stepped back slightly, out of range of further claps on the shoulder from his enthusiastic co-coach.
“Yeah, sure. Let them.” he muttered, bundling the gear together and shouldering the bag, making his way towards the storage shed, attempting to ignore the guy trailing after him, continuing to heap praise on his ‘performance’ as a sub-par goalie. Stiles then continued to follow him as he headed for the mess hall himself, and somehow they ended up having dinner seated together, Stiles talking at Derek the whole time, undeterred by the monosyllabic responses he was getting over the sloppy joes and watery vegetables that passed for food.
Derek was really not surprised when he got up from his place in the mess hall, and began making his way to his cabin that night to find that Stiles was the guy who had arrived late and would be taking the bunk above him, the one that had been mercifully empty for the first two nights of camp. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, the name on the assignment sheet was something unpronounceable followed by the initial ‘S’.
It was just how his luck ran; the more annoying a person was, the more likely he would be paired up with them and forced to interact against his will. This was the reason he was always made to share a room with Laura at family events - she was the best at making his life hell, therefore he would be made to share her space while she snored or texted her friends all night then forced him to take the crappy mattress or sleep on the floor while she sprawled across the queen mattress.
Stiles, apparently, found this development extremely entertaining when he realised that ‘his Derek’ was ‘Derek H’, the other guy assigned to his cabin.
“Sweet, dude! We can work on coaching plans and shit after hours without having to sneak around!” he punched Derek in the arm, enthusiastic, while dragging his gear bag behind them towards the last cabin on the row.
“Right.”
“I mean, unless you were planning on sneaking out at night to visit your girlfriend on the other side of the lake...”
“There is no lake here, Stiles.”
“Okay, so, sneaking out to see your girlfriend on the other side of the woods, then. Or to call her from that one spot up on the ridge that actually gets cell service.”
Derek sighed, and figured he might as well answer the unasked question.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Really?” Incredulity was not the response he was expecting. Though Stiles did follow up pretty quickly with “Boyfriend?”, side-eyeing Derek as they walked towards their cabin in the dimming light.
“No boyfriend, either.” Derek informed him, skipping up the stairs and, without conscious thought, holding the door open for the man behind him. “What about you? Planning a late night run to call your lover?” He’d given up on monosyllables and decided to contribute to the conversation through sarcasm, realising that Stiles wouldn’t be deterred by much.
“If by lover you mean best friend then maybe, yeah. He’s working all summer at the clinic back home to get himself some extra credit before he goes back to vet school in the fall.”
Stiles hoisted himself up onto the top bunk, bypassing the ladder entirely, and sprawled himself out, propping his head up one one hand and letting the other dangle towards Derek.
“Though I’ll probably be lucky to even get answered, he kind of spends all his free time sneaking around with his girlfriend.”
“Sneaking? What is he, seventeen?”
“Nineteen, same as me. Dude, you seriously think my best friend would be a freaking high schooler?”
“Until about three seconds ago I thought YOU were a freaking high schooler.” Derek informed him, laying flat on his own bunk and staring at the slats beneath Stiles.
“What?” Stiles squawked, tipping himself over and hanging himself upside-down so that he could see Derek, one hand grasping the head of the bed to prevent what could be a rather nasty fall.
“You’re kind of scrawny.” Derek pointed out, and Stiles pouted at him, before sliding sideways and dropping to the floor, rooting through his duffel and emerging with a towel and wash bag.
“Dude, I am not scrawny. I’m a first-line lacrosse defender, and speaking of, I’m kind of sweaty. I’m going to take a shower.”
“You have fun. Try not to think about your boyfriend boning his girlfriend while you’re in there, we have to share that bathroom.”
“Snarky is not a good colour on you!” Stiles called through the door, turning the shower on and drowning out Derek’s reply.
“Yes it is! Brings out my eyes!”
“I can’t hear you over the shower, Der-bear!”
“Dammit, don’t call me that!” Derek shouted at him, louder this time.
“Still can’t hear you!”
“I’m going to put something horrible in your bed, Stiles.” He muttered to himself, turning on his side and facing the wall, trying, failing, to tune out Stiles’ off-key singing of a Kelly Clarkson song that Laura had made him listen to more often than he’d like to admit.