Chapter Text
Stiles looks in the mirror on a rainy Saturday morning, toothbrush in his mouth, to see Derek Hale hovering in the doorway behind him. His heart jumps out of his chest, because Derek had snuck up on him – he nearly chokes on foamy toothpaste, leaning over the sink to spit quickly.
“Derek,” he says, some toothpaste around his lips, his voice distorted because he’s still brushing, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says. Probably, the Sheriff let him in downstairs and gave him a frown and sent him up to find Stiles right here. He’s not Derek’s biggest fan, but slowly and surely, he’s becoming less of a member of Derek’s official hate group. Many people do still belong to that group, maybe a handful more since Derek had come out in front of the entire school. These days, it’s so easy to drown those people out Stiles nearly forgets they exist at all.
“You succeeded,” he spits one more time, rinsing his mouth out with water. Derek watches as Stiles wipes his face with a nearby towel, so Stiles smirks and feels silly, with Derek’s eyes on him. “Did you come to hang out?”
Derek is fully dressed, hair done, face shaven, eyes clear. It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning. The Derek of yesteryear would never in a million years be up before eleven AM on Saturday, would’ve been out until three in the morning drinking at some fuckbag’s house at a party, would’ve hooked up with some random girl he’d never remember the name of.
The Derek of today usually eats dinner with Stiles on Friday nights, does homework, maybe watches a movie with his limbs tangle up with Stiles’ in bed.
“I thought I’d take you out.”
Stiles is surprised, again. “You mean, like, out out?”
“Breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” He repeats, eyebrows going into his hairline. “At a restaurant?”
“Ideally, yes.”
Derek has never once been anywhere in public with Stiles; not when they were enemies, not when they were secret lovers, and still not now that they’re publicly dating. Stiles had sort of figured he wanted to ease everyone into the idea of Derek Hale being in a relationship with another boy, to not be out and about shoving it down everyone’s throats if only to get them all used to it.
Yet here he is, fully prepared to start shoving. Stiles is happy he’s already taken a shower and done his hair, quickly nodding, enthusiastic and nervous at the same time. “Okay, yeah, uh – let me just –“ he smooths out his shirt and moves to go past Derek to his bedroom, to collect his phone and wallet.
Derek does not move. He stays planted, huge and in the way, so Stiles has no choice but to bump into him. Unlike many of the other times they’ve ever greeted one another, Derek does not seem awkward, anymore. Stiles has stopped saying that little affections are not a part of their relationship; they are, definitely. Just…in Derek’s own way.
Derek puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, squeezes. It reminds him of something more friendly than romantic, but that’s just how Derek is. Then, he moves out of the way and allows Stiles to pass.
In the car as the rain batters the hood, Stiles is high energy. He fiddles with the radio, much to Derek’s silent chagrin. If he had it his way, they’d ride in silence every single day, music more of an annoyance at worst and background noise at best than something he ever genuinely enjoys. And Stiles’ music, as luck would have it, Derek hates most of all. He calls it depressing.
“Where should we go?” Stiles asks, as Derek comes to the intersection that will send them off to downtown.
“I thought that place by the library.”
Stiles is, once again, surprised. “That place is nice,” like, way too nice. It is certainly not a greasy spoon diner with flapjacks and scrambled eggs. It’s one of those trendy brunch spots that does artisan breakfast sandwiches and has eight different kinds of mimosas, craft beers, menu items with ingredients that are hard to pronounce. “Are we uh. You know.”
Derek side eyes him, because he certainly does not know.
“You know. Going on a…date?”
“Not really,” Derek shrugs, and Stiles nods like oh yes, of course not, I was joking around anyway. “It’s not really a date when you’re already together.”
“That’s why they call it dating,” he argues, gesturing to them there in the car, as if them here right now only proves his point. “Because the parties involved go on outings together.”
Derek turns on his blinker and smiles thinly, his eyes blocked by his usual sunglasses, so he is as hard to read as he ever is. “It just seems asinine to give it a title, like that.”
“Oh, totally,” Stiles agrees, again nodding too enthusiastically. Derek looks at him and smiles bigger, shrugging.
“If you want to call it a date, then sure. It’s a date.” More often lately, Derek only argues with Stiles because it makes him laugh. Stiles gets riled up about silly things and Derek cares about nothing, nothing at all, so he’ll play Devil’s Advocate just because he likes to hear Stiles go batty about something as stupid as what does or does not quantify a “date.” Stiles likes semantics and technicalities and proving people wrong; Derek likes that Stiles likes those things, finds it amusing.
Stiles leans back in his seat, chewing on his bottom lip, watching the scenery go past. “You want to hold hands?”
Derek lays his arm out on the center console, resting his hand loosely, palm out. Stiles grabs it and squeezes, interlacing their fingers together. Derek bears these romances with no commentary, most of the time, like he’s not used to it and feels awkward doing it, but does so anyway just to appease Stiles’ insatiable appetite for touch.
In the restaurant parking lot, Derek walks side by side with Stiles, putting his arm around Stiles’ shoulders briefly, squeezing him tight against his side, and then releases. It, again, is more friendly than romantic, but Stiles has learned to really love Derek’s bro-like intimacies. It’s their own personal thing.
Stiles and Derek have never before been in a restaurant together, so it is a baffling surprise when, after Stiles slides into his side of the booth, Derek does not slide into the opposite side like Stiles would expect any normal person to do.
He fits himself right next to Stiles, having to kind of push Stiles’ hip with his own to fit his full width onto the cushion. Stiles moves against the wall and tries to hide a smile; he wonders if Derek is doing this because he simply does not give one iota of a fuck if people think he’s weird for this, if Derek likes to do just whatever he wants at all times, no matter if people find it odd that two teenage boys are huddled together on one of a restaurant booth.
“I’ve never been here before,” Stiles starts up, opening up his menu and bumping elbows with Derek as he peruses the contents. “I just know about it because I like to look up menus on the internet, even for places I never plan to go to.”
“An interesting pastime,” Derek smirks.
“I have full on checked out restaurants in New York City.”
“Anything good?”
“Uh, it’s the big apple. There’s a lot good, so much stuff you’ve never even heard of. Vegan barbecue, ever heard of it?”
Derek turns his neck, resting his cheek in a palm and smirking, tracing Stiles’ face with his eyes. “That sounds bad, honestly.”
“It’s award winning,” Stiles corrects. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Curiosity is your thing,” he shrugs. “I prefer regular old boring meat.”
As time has gone on and their relationship has become more solid, Stiles has noticed that they have a bit of a zig-zag in terms of their differences. Where Stiles zigs, Derek zags. Derek likes things he’s familiar with, would honestly be content with the same routine day after day – while Stiles gets stir crazy and has to do something different, at least every now and then.
Derek gets orange juice, Stiles orders coffee. As they sip, Derek taps his fingers on the menu and seems to be going through an existential crisis of some kind, furrowing his brow at the items listed.
Stiles has already got his menu closed up tight, locked and loaded on what he’s going to order. “Hard choices?”
“I can never decide between breakfast or lunch,” he admits, then meets Stiles’ eyes. “Maybe both.”
“How does one do both?”
Derek gestures to the menu. “Breakfast platter and also a burger.”
“You cannot eat both,” Stiles laughs, shakes his head. Derek lifts his eyebrows and smirks, like oh yes, yes he certainly can. That’s precisely what he orders. Pancakes, bacon, two eggs, toast, a cheeseburger, and fries. Stiles gets a waffle and a side of hashbrowns. “I shudder to think what kind of shit you’re going to take later.”
Derek’s laugh is quick, genuine, surprised. “It takes a lot of fuel to power all of this,” he pats his chest, and Stiles guesses that just about makes sense. Even though the season is over, Derek is at the gym every single fucking day, lifting weights, running around, this that and the other thing. Stiles actually has no idea what he gets up to, in there – he refuses to tag along because working out is a nightmare.
The food comes and it’s like a buffet – plates upon plates, nearly all of them for Derek to hoard to himself. He eats like his life depends upon it, sopping hashbrowns up in egg yolk, crunching on bacon two slices at a time, barely finishing chewing before he’s onto the next bite. Stiles isn’t even done cutting his waffle into manageable triangles, and Derek has polished off half of his food.
“You didn’t order enough food,” Derek tells him, looking at Stiles’ huge waffle and decent side of potatoes.
“Uh, you ordered rations for an entire family to get through a quarantine,” Stiles corrects, and Derek shrugs, looking at his food like what?
“No wonder you’re so skinny,” he teases, poking Stiles in the side with a greasy bacon finger. Stiles laughs, pushing Derek’s hand away.
As he’s turning to get back to chewing up his waffle, he looks up and spots a truly unfortunate ghoul coming towards their table. He stiffens, looking away quickly and frowning.
Derek notices Stiles’ mood change near instantly. “What is it?”
“It’s just, uh –“ Stiles keeps his eyes trained on his plate of food, “Theo is here.”
This is not as abhorrent a development to Derek as it is to Stiles. Derek straightens up, wipes his hands off on the nice cloth napkin, and shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t get upset,” he says, “I’m right here.”
Right, and what could Theo possibly do with Derek Hale right there? Surely he’d never be so stupid as to say absolutely anything to Stiles within Derek’s ear shot, not anymore. Stiles figures he’ll just keep on his merry way to his own table, wherever that may be, but Derek summons him.
“Raeken,” he says, when he’s close enough to be in earshot. Stiles grabs Derek’s wrist, squeezing, because what the hell does he think he’s doing inviting the devil over to their table? Derek breaks free and seems to be enjoying this, smirking as he sips his orange juice almost too haughtily.
“What do you want, Hale?” He acts like Stiles isn’t there, is invisible or something. Maybe that’s for the best.
“Just saying hello,” he says with a grin. It is not a very nice grin. Then, he leans back and puts his arm around the back of the booth, so it rests against Stiles’ shoulders. “Reminding you that even with being a faggot and all I’m still on a full ride to Beacon, I guess.” He cocks his head to the side and feigns ignorance, his eyes going far away as if he’s thinking really hard. “Where are you going again? Oh, right,” he snaps his fingers, smirking again. “Nowhere.”
Theo glares. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to flip this table over, here and now. To grab Stiles and beat the hell out of him again, because he’d never in his life go after Derek, but rather would only ever go after those around him. Instead, he just stands there and knows that his options are none, nothing, he’s got no comebacks, no smartass remarks, no more moves to make. “Fuck off, Hale,” he mutters, and then wanders off to lick his wounds.
Derek laughs, the mean one, going back to eating his pancakes like it’s his reward for all those zingers he threw out. “What was all that?” Stiles asks, and Derek swallows what food he’s got in his mouth and shrugs.
“I’m just feeling very gloaty. I got exactly what I wanted, and he got absolutely nothing. Just rubbing it in.”
“You are an asshole,” Stiles says, but he’s smiling as he says it. It was fun to watch Theo be verbally attacked, after all.
“I know, it keeps me up at night,” he shrugs, picking up his cheeseburger with delight in his eyes. He takes a huge bite, chews, swallows, then sets it down. “You know, I love you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles pushes a waffle square around on his plate, smiling. “What do you think is gonna happen, when you go to school next Fall?”
“What do you mean?”
Stiles hadn’t wanted to seem clingy, so he hadn’t asked – but now, as Derek’s graduation looms closer and he’s going through the motions of applying for on campus housing and getting a meal card and all that, Stiles can’t hold back from asking any longer. “I mean…when you go to school, what’s gonna happen with us?”
Derek blinks at him. He had been holding his cheeseburger again, but now, he puts it down on top of his pancakes and seems irritated that Stiles would even ask him this. “Stiles, I about shit all over everything I’ve worked for my entire life just to be with you, and you really have to ask me that?”
Stiles scratches at his cheek, shrugs, won’t meet Derek’s eyes. “I’m insecure,” he reasons. “It’d just be nice to like…know.”
“Okay,” Derek turns his body as much as he can in the booth, so he’s facing Stiles head on. “There is next to no possibility that there will ever be someone else like you who could stand to be around me for more than five minutes. Especially not at Beacon. I’m going to be spending nearly all of my time in class or on the field working my ass off, there is not going to even be a ton of time for me to meet anyone else but other meatheads. If I want to be pro, I need to stop partying and focus, so that’s another thing you don’t need to worry about. I hate literally everyone else on this earth aside from you, so,” he reaches out, adjusts a single strand of Stiles’ hair, “I don’t know what you think is going to change.”
Stiles sucks in a deep breath and feels stupid for even saying it. “We’re not gonna be at school together anymore.”
“Okay, and?”
“And there are a lot of new people at college, you know.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone new,” he says, serious as a heart attack, “I want to be with you.”
Maybe it is foolish and somewhat childish to believe that he and Derek could possibly be together until they die or something, but one thing is certainly for sure – they went through way too much, way way way too much, for their relationship to be fucked just by the sheer fact of Derek being away at college. For Christ’s sake, the campus is only five miles away from Stiles’ house.
Not that he had googled it, or anything.
“Okay,” Stiles agrees, sitting up a bit straighter. “Okay, fine.”
Derek leans forward and kisses Stiles on the mouth, there in front of everyone, like it’s nothing. When they pull apart, Stiles looks around to find that, hey, as a matter of fact, outside of high school and football, most people don’t care so much about two boys kissing, any longer.
In football, it will be a fight. Stiles knows that since Derek plans on being open about his sexuality, he will have a nightmare on his hands. It will be hard. People will say horrible things about him, Stiles is sure of it.
If this whole experience has taught Stiles and probably Derek nothing else, it’s that things that matter, truly matter, are worth going through the nightmare for. Maybe Stiles and Derek can’t be together forever. Stiles would be naïve to think so. The fact remains that they have both changed the others’ life, permanently, irrevocably, so whether they’re fucking or not, they will be in each other’s lives for as long as they can be.
College, and the NFL, and whatever else. Derek will know Stiles forever.