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Stiles was the worst waiter in the history of waiting. Serving rich douchebags during their fancy meetings and eating something that Stiles couldn’t even pronounce right even if his life depended on it, was definitely not how he expected to finance his university expenses. No, seriously, dangerously balancing expensive tableware with his ADHD is practically calling for a catastrophe to happen.
Until now he only managed to break five wine glasses – which was so totally not his fault because Jackson purposely ran into his line of sight which caused him to reflexively throw his arms into the air –, a heur d’oeuvre tray and almost all of the silverware. Finstock, the headwaiter, looked like he was so close to getting an aneurism. His face turned into fifty shades of red, but Finstock knew that he knew that they were hopelessly understaffed this evening. If they wouldn’t be so desperate, they would have fired him hours ago.
“Dude, relax”, said Scott, after he helped him pick up several knives and forks. “I’m getting nervous just looking at you and I’ve been working here for over a month already.”
“Oh Scotty”, Stiles sighed dramatically, “if I could relax don’t you think I would?! You know that my arms and legs have a life of their own, my mind says ‘Stop’ and my body says ‘Drop the pricey silverware you could probably buy a kidney for’!”
Scott winced. “Just … try to stay positive. You’ll get paid a huge bunch of money, Lydia, Allison and I are working here …” Stiles best friend’s face became a mask of pure infatuation as his eyes drifted to his as-good-as-girlfriend-crush who worked as the bartender. Stiles did his best not to role his eyes and failed miserably. Good thing Scott was still in his little dream world full of rainbows and puppies – probably all of them with Allisons face on them. Ew.
Lydia on the other hand was the receptionist, which suited her perfectly. She could dress up – even though she always looked as if she had just come from the catwalk –, twist the guests easily around her finger and examine her nails in her breaks. Now that the restaurant had a full house, she had all the time in the world to criticize Stiles crinkly waiter uniform whenever he scurried by, but in the end it was all thanks to her that he even got the job – for which he was eternally grateful for, since he now could afford more than pop-tarts for dinner.
“Stilinski, are you waiting for mushrooms to grow on your head, because I have to tell you, your face is similar enough to one, so hurry the fuck up!”, Jackson hissed when he hushed over with a full tray of drinks. “The Hales are here!”
“Who?”, Scott and him asked simultaneously. They shot each other a grin.
“The Hales are one of the most prestigious families in town”, commented Lydia coolly and almost made the boys jump out of their skin when she appeared out of nowhere, “They are so high-class, they could easily buy this restaurant if they wanted to.”
With a flick of her chin, she pointed to a big table right beside the huge windows, giving a view over the city.
Stiles eyes went huge. He felt like he was about to pass out. It was one of his tables they were sitting at. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes”, purred Lydia with an amused head tilt, which made her beautiful eyes shine crazily. “You better hurry, one of them already looks like he wants nothing more than to rip somebody’s throat out. With his teeth.”
Stiles shoulders slumped and Scotts encouraging shoulder clap felt like he was pushed into the abyss.
On his way to the table he made out three women and two men. After he positioned himself behind the man with the broad shoulders and the spiky black hair, he had a better view on the ladies, of whom one of them was maybe in her thirties and had light brown hair, while the woman sitting beside her seemed older, with a look in her dark eyes made to cut glass.
The third was the oldest, Stiles assessed, and definitely the scariest. Her posture was perfectly stiff, almost as if she came straight from the military. There was no doubt in Stiles mind that he was dealing with a very powerful woman, who could probably destroy him with the snap of her fingers, if he screwed up in any way.
Stiles gulped nervously. “Uh, eh, may I take your order?” How articulate. After serving at least twelve people today one would think he could have done this better.
“Champagne for all of us”, decided one of the male Hales with a smug grin and giving Stiles a flirty wink. He gave off a carefree attitude, incredibly pleased with himself and ready to sin.
Stiles shuddered, but the women just nodded agreeably, not even acknowledging his existence.
Stiles considered it a deed done, about to flee any possible humiliation, but the disgruntled voice of the participant he stood behind stopped Stiles in his tracks.
“No alcohol for me, thanks. Just give me a coke.”
A shiver ran down his spine. Huh, weird. He shifted a little bit, so he could take a look at the guy who ordered coke in a high-class restaurant, and almost dropped his pen.
He was freaking gorgeous. Eyes of serial killer – but still, wow. His body could be the one of a trained fire fighter or an ancient marble statue, and this picture definitely fueled Stiles dirty imagination.
“Like what you see?”, snickered the older Hale from across them.
“Oh god yes.” Adonis-guy raised his bushy caterpillar eyebrows at him. Stiles paled. “I mean no! I mean– Champagne and coke, right away!”
Scurrying away, the evil snickers of the young women followed him. Stiles wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Dude, what the hell happened?” Scott was at his side before he even reached the bar. “Did they say something? You look like somebody rolled you over with your jeep!”
“Nah, man, nothing”, Stiles shrugged it off, as if he just didn’t suffer a mini heart attack. “I’m fine. I need champagne and coke for the Hales.”
Scott squinted suspiciously, but let it go pretty easily when he helped him get the drinks ready, making moon eyes at Allison who whipped out the really good Champagne.
“Thanks, man. And now pray that I won’t trip over my own feet – again.” They shared a pained laugh and Stiles immediately felt better.
The guy, young Mr. Hale, wouldn’t be interested in his gangly self anyway. It was nothing new that some of the guests would start making fun of him just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and had a habit of blabbering incoherent sentences. Or stepped on somebody’s ego by using so much sarcasm until they drowned in it.
Anyway, Stiles bet that at least one of these beauties at his table had to be his girlfriend or crush or hook-up or whatever. Especially when one of them bend over to this man-god, touched his arm in a familiar gesture or grinned at him fondly.
Stiles pushed the bitterness in him down with sheer willpower. He was their waiter, nothing more. He wasn’t befriending them, because they played on a completely different level. There was no need to make a bigger fool out of himself than he already was.
“Champagne for the ladies”, Stiles smiled politely and with minimal amount of blushing. He thanked the gods that he managed to bring the drinks without any incident. “And a coke for the gentleman.”
“It’s Derek.”
Any conversation at the table screeched to a halt at his hot-like-burning guest’s introduction. If you could call it that. Stiles wasn’t sure if he had just imagined it, but the sudden attention he was gifted with by the others was disconcerting.
“What odd taste you have, Der-bear!”, crooned one of the women. “Now if you could only flirt like a normal person instead of glowering them into submission we’d be all set!”
Laughter erupted, which made Derek hunch in on himself, embarrassment coloring his ears in an adorable red.
Stiles protective instinct kicked in at the sight, winning over his own humiliation. “If the ladies and gents are ready to finally order, I’d be more than grateful.”
“Ooh, feisty”, chimed the older guy, wearing a deep cut v-neck under his suit coat and looking a little bit like a host, “I like you.”
He winked at Stiles, earning an angry look from Derek. “Uncle Peter!”
“All of you, stop it. Now.” The eldest woman, who Stiles just realized might be Derek’s mother, because she had the exact same intimidating facial expression, was completely unamused. She didn’t even have to raise her voice to make them fall back into line, like a pack of wolves.
When her disapproving gaze set on Stiles, he was tempted to squeak out a “Please don’t kill me!”.
“Excuse my foolish brother and children. It seems I’ve spoiled them too much. That’s why I’m sure they’d love to take over the bill.”
“Mom!”, hissed both girls, obviously ashamed to be put into place in front of a waiter. The other guy, ‘Uncle Peter’, simply chugged down his Champagne and waved Jackson to bring him another, who swooped over like summoned by demons.
After Stiles took their orders – Mrs. Hale and Derek ordering the most expensive dishes, much to the girl’s chagrin – he was more than relieved to finally wobble back to his own people. As far away from Armani suits, glittering jewelry and meals, with which he could pay his university tuition, as possible.
“Dude, are you going to pass out?!”, a genuinely concerned Scott asked, as he followed him into the kitchen.
Stiles dramatically clang to him. “Scott, my man! My buddy! I can’t do this anymore! I’m dead! Game over for good old Stiles here!”
“I know, bro, I know. You gotta pull it together, though. Think of the money. The money!”
“No money in the world is worth this pain, Scott!” Stiles kept waving his arms, almost hitting one of the cooks, Erica, into the face. She would have bit off his arm if he as much as touched a hair on her golden head.
“Don’t be dramatic, Stiles!”, Erica snapped. “The Hales are decent folk. They gave me this job when I had as good as no credentials and was rejected left and right. So stop whining, and just do your job.”
Stiles slumped in on himself like a scolded child. “It’s just – it wouldn’t be so weird if all of them were mean! But that guy – Derek – he’s so cute, oh my god, but those eyebrows make him look mad like all the time, but he’s totally the baby in the family, I can tell! And he keeps avoiding looking at me, and I don’t know if I should be glad to be spared by his hotness or disappointed, and it makes no freaking sense, because I might be imagining it, but his mom is super nice to me, like she’s buttering me up or something!”
Scott seemed quite confused by Stile’s lengthy speech, but Erica only rolled her eyes. “What an idiot. Just man up and kiss the other idiot. Now shoo! Your pathetic love-life has nothing to do in my kitchen!”
“Bilinski!”, Finstock barked, stomping into kitchen like the devil himself, doors whipping closed behind him. “What the hell are you hiding for?! I swear, you’re giving me a rash on my ass!”
Everybody in the vicinity grimaced, as Stiles was unceremoniously shoved out the door, right into a chiseled chest.
“Mr. Hale!”, Finstock cried out in false cheer. “Is there something I can do for you? Is everything to your taste?”
Derek hardly spared him a glance, simply nodded and said, “Yes, everything is fine. I wondered if I could talk to Mr. … uhm, Bilinski, was it? In private”, he added.
Finstock’s face went through a motion of incredulous expressions, before he plastered a new smile on his face and scurried off. But not without giving Stiles one last crazy look behind Derek’s back.
“Stiles! Stiles Stilinski”, he practically squeaked, forcing himself to step away from this of aftershave smelling, gorgeous man, who looked a little bit out of his element as of right now. “That’s my name. Not my real name, I mean – not my real first name! But you wouldn’t want to know that monstrosity anyway –”
“Derek Hale.”
“What?”
Derek ducked his head, avoiding looking into his eyes again and instead trying to burn a hole into the floor. “You probably heard already. I’m Derek. Hale. I’m sorry for my noisy family.”
Stiles gaped. “Oh, uh, yeah! No problem, dude, I’m totally used to people making fun of me.”
Derek scrunched up his face, which should make him look less attractive, but yo and behold, it didn’t. “You shouldn’t be used to that kind of thing; it was rude and uncalled for. But … if it makes you feel better, I was the one they made fun of.”
“What? Why?” Stiles was honestly amazed by the wave of emotions travelling over Derek’s face. From wrinkling his nose in irritation, to sighing deeply and rolling his eyes in exasperation, ending with unwilling resignation.
“Could I get your number? For a date. With me”, he hastily tried to clarify, “if you want to, that is.”
Stiles was left speechless, which didn’t happen often. It was almost like he could hear the gates of heaven opening, followed by the singing chorus of angels.
Derek’s stance grew rigid at Stiles’ prolonged silence. “Look, if I made you uncomfortable I’m very s–“
“Yes!”, Stiles blurted when his brain finally decided to catch up.
“Oh.” Derek’s expression fell. As if somebody kicked his puppy, and then left him standing in the rain, completely and absolutely misunderstanding Stiles. “I see. Then, have a nice evening.”
“No, wait a second!” Stiles surged forward, grabbing his arm, as Derek was about to turn away. “Yes – like, yes, I would love to go out with you!”
A tiny smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, his eye wrinkles becoming more prominent. “Really?”
Stiles was giddy with excitement. “Duh! Yeah! Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Derek’s smile grew. He put his hand over Stiles’, which still held on to him. “I’m very sure.”
They exchanged phone numbers, then parted their ways with silent promises of contacting each other. Stiles felt in a daze for the rest of the night, cleaning the tables on autopilot. Not even Lydia’s knowing smirk, Jackson’s attempts to make his job miserable or Scott’s lovey-dovey-ness with Allison could pull him out of his disgustingly good mood.
Especially after he marveled at the tip the Hales had left him with.
When Stiles finally laid in bed that night, exhaustion settling in his bones and making his limbs feel like stone, he was surprised by a text message coming in. Groaning, he sluggishly grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Stiles deigned it a quick look before putting it back and rolling over.
In the next two seconds recognition trickled into his brain, and he almost fell out of bed in his haste to fumble for his phone.
Stiles thought the evening couldn’t have gone better, but he was proven so, so wrong, and he couldn’t have been happier about it.
Goodnight Stiles.