Chapter Text
Stiles had a weird habit.
Well, rather than weird, him leaving Derek little anonymous gifts once a week or every two weeks bordered into creepy territory, but Derek didn’t seem to mind them.
In fact, the few times Isaac mentioned Derek eating or wearing one of his gifts, it seemed like Derek enjoyed them to some extent.
A big part of it was thanks to Isaac, to be honest, not that Isaac knew that. Sure, Stiles texted Derek from time to time, which was already a lot more than he’d hoped for considering that Derek didn’t really do texts unless there was an emergency, but Isaac actually spent time with Derek in person, unlike Stiles and the rest of them who were off at their respective universities.
Not that Stiles lived far away now. He’d ended up attending Beacon Hills University along with pretty much all of his friends except Lydia, who resided a little further away at Berkeley.
It was just that he and Derek had never really been on… ‘hanging out’ terms, for lack of better words.
So it was already a miracle that Derek even replied his random texts and even more random photos of somewhat okay-looking food and semi-wilting campus flowers on occasion.
Thus, most of his information about Derek’s life came from Isaac, who regularly bothered Derek and roped him into odd things, like tricking him into a group blind date when one of Isaac’s friends couldn’t make it, or noticed randomly that Derek really liked certain foods, like pastries and pasta and kumquats.
The kumquats part felt a little out-of-the-blue when Stiles had first heard Isaac mention it—“he had a whole bowl filled with them at his flat and they all disappeared by the time I came back two days later, the man has an addiction!”—but, well, Isaac would know better than him. (He also found it a bit cute.)
Stiles set to work looking for kumquat dessert recipes after that. His first successful bake resulted in a neatly wrapped kumquat tart that he left outside Derek’s flat, and he resolved to try his hand at making candied kumquats next, (after studying for finals a bit). Only a few nights later, however, he received a text while cramming a homework assignment last minute from Isaac in their friend group chat (minus Derek) that read in all caps “DEREK MIGHT FINALLY GET LAID???”
Along with a photo of said lady that apparently hit it off with Derek at that group blind date Isaac had roped Derek into going.
A pretty brunette with soft waves of hair and just as soft eyes smiled for the camera in the photo, sun glinting off her head in a halo, and Stiles felt like he’d swallowed lead.
He’d never planned on making a move on Derek or pursuing him, though, so he knew this whole affair of wanting to cry was rather silly—he’d just liked seeing or hearing that Derek enjoyed some of his gifts.
But, well, he probably shouldn’t leave those gifts for Derek anymore. He didn’t want to get in the way, after all, and despite his feelings, he really did want Derek to be happy. It was high time that Derek found someone special who would treat him right.
With that in mind, Stiles tried his best to rein in his down mood, somehow managing to cover for his red-rimmed eyes and paler than usual pallor as stress over finals and lack of sleep. He stopped sending Derek random photos or texts, too. Derek’s replies had always been short, so Stiles knew Derek had just been humoring him and he figured it wouldn’t really matter if he didn’t take a photo of him tripping a rabid squirrel or not—(he’d never seen Kira laugh so hard as when he’d faceplanted with the squirrel he’d tripped over just sitting there staring at him like he was an idiot).
Besides, they always heard updates from Isaac about Derek’s budding love life, whether any of them wanted to or not.
(No one seemed to particularly want to hear about it besides Scott, who seemed genuinely delighted for Derek.)
Stiles wished he could be like that instead of being this weird mix of heartbroken over something that would’ve never started and happy that this really did seem to be working out for Derek. Isaac kept blabbing on about how Derek was a changed person, something about him looking a bit high-strung these days probably from nerves since his date with this lady was coming up, and if that wasn’t a sign that Derek cared quite a bit for this person, Stiles didn’t know what was.
Derek wasn’t one to get nervous over things like dates to begin with. Hell, he even kept his cool in life or death situations most of the time.
Maybe it was because Stiles looked under the weather for a while, especially during finals, that Lydia practically strong-armed him into coming to her winter party and dressing up. She’d decided to host a sexy costume party at her house since a lot of them had missed Halloween in celebration of the semester being over and when Stiles said he didn’t think he’d go, she showed up the next day and shoved a costume that she’d picked for him into his arms.
“It’ll be good for you,” she said. “This is exactly what you need. Nothing like some pretty faces to relieve stress. Don’t forget to come over an hour early so I can do your makeup or I’ll drag you over myself.”
Stiles didn’t like the knowing look she gave him.
He also didn’t particularly like the costume she gave him.
It was cute and all with the mini red riding hood cape, tiny skirt that was barely a skirt, and strapless lace up bodice, but it wasn’t cute on him.
He just looked weird in it, in his opinion, but when he told her as much, she said someone who wore baggy tshirts and even baggier button downs over them on the daily and didn’t see a problem with it didn’t get an opinion on anything to do with fashion.
So he shut up after that.
Derek texted him a few days after finals ended, much to Stiles’ surprise (and delight). Just a simple “I heard you tripped over a squirrel,” but it made Stiles’ week. They texted a bit about this and that over the span of the next couple of days, and at some point, Stiles did end up making candied kumquats with the excuse that maybe it wouldn’t be too weird to give them to Derek as a little birthday and Christmas present. Surely they were close enough for a small gift, weren’t they?
Meanwhile, his friends kept telling him he should try dating for once, especially after one of Stiles’ classmates—a tall, handsome, and quirky sort of fellow—approached him when they were eating lunch together on campus to ask for his number to “keep in touch.”
“It means he’s into you,” said Kira, Allison, Isaac, and Malia all at the same time.
Scott had just laughed, then agreed with a “They’re right.”
Stiles had begun considering it at the time, especially when Lydia said he could always just invite him to the party to test the waters, but as the days neared and he mulled over whether it’d be weird to give Derek candied kumquats or not, he ended up never contacting his classmate, although he might’ve lied to his friends and said that he’d invited him just so they’d get off his back.
He did agree that maybe some distractions would do him good, though, especially when Isaac told them the day before the party that Derek might not come since his plus one couldn’t make it—it’d been more of a shock to all of them that Derek had even considered coming.
His plus one must be someone special, Stiles had thought, and he grew even more indecisive over whether he should give Derek candied kumquats and a scarf or not—(yes, he’d knitted a deep forest green scarf for Derek because he was an idiot).
He’d ended up storing them in his Jeep on the unlikely possibility that Derek showed up at the party and the even unlikelier possibility that he actually decided to go through with it.
The party, as was usually the case with Lydia’s parties, went exceedingly well. Stiles still thought he looked weird even after Lydia had dabbed his lips with some apple red lip stain and puffed some similarly colored powder on his cheeks and eyelids, but she seemed quite proud of herself, especially after she lined his eyes with a dark brick-red gel eyeliner that she claimed brought out the amber hue in his brown eyes, to which Allison and Kira agreed.
Stiles had no clue what the heck they were on about and neither did Malia, so he high-fived her.
Malia did agree with the others that he looked stunning, though, and Stiles wondered if there was something wrong with his eyes because he saw absolutely nothing appealing about him wearing this skimpy outfit.
Then again, he’d never been one for fashion—he erred greatly towards the side of comfort.
It was just as well, too, because he was pretty sure someone hit on him for some reason when he was helping himself to the spiked punch in hopes of loosening up a little.
Like an idiot, he’d looked around the room for a good few seconds in confusion until the man said with a laugh, “I’m talking to you.”
Stiles blinked. “Oh.”
“So, wanna dance?” the man repeated, warm brown eyes full of mirth.
“Um, well, sure,” Stiles floundered, “but I kinda suck at dancing, so—”
“That’s fine.” The man smiled, and Stiles realized he had dimples. “It’s just for fun.”
So Stiles agreed and began relaxing and laughing a little just dancing kind of weirdly with this man and his wavy black hair and his fake black wolf ears, who didn’t once comment on his strange dance moves, until he moved closer to Stiles and put his hands on his hips a few songs in—Stiles tensed. He sort of just kept dancing, because he didn’t know what else to do, but his heart pounded—this was the kind of distraction he wanted, right?
But would it really be a distraction?
The man leaned in to shout in his ear over the loud music, “Wanna take this somewhere else?”
Stiles froze.
The man waited for his answer.
And Stiles looked up at him and his dimples and smiling face and knew he couldn’t do this.
It wouldn’t be a distraction when he wasn’t even the least bit interested.
He opened his mouth to say no, only to notice Derek walking through the front door in his usual attire of leather jacket and v-neck shirt.
Staring at him.
Maybe?
Stiles looked around for maybe Isaac or Scott or someone else nearby, but he didn’t see anyone so he glanced back at Derek staring at him and gave a tentative wave.
Derek made his way over within a few seconds.
“Hey, you’re here!” Stiles greeted him.
Derek just raised his eyebrows in response, then looked at the man Stiles had been dancing with (and kind of still was) with a scrutinizing sort of once-over. “This your plus one?”
“What?” Stiles blinked. “Oh, no, this is....” He trailed off upon realizing that he didn’t even know his name.
“Matteo,” the man said. He offered his hand for a handshake, but when Derek didn’t return it, he returned his hand to Stiles’ hip—Stiles had forgotten that Matteo’s hands had been on his hips this whole time. “Do you want to talk to your friend or do you want to go somewhere else?” he asked Stiles.
Stiles’ cheeks burned red. The answer was obvious for him, of course, but never in a million years had he expected Derek to stand witness to his willful lack of love life.
He also never expected for Derek to stand witness to absolutely nothing, because before he could even respond, Derek leaned in and peered at his face.
“You look a little red,” said Derek. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Um.” Stiles glanced at the plastic red cup in his hand, still nearly full. “Not much.”
“You should drink some water,” Derek told him, and Stiles, unsure what was going on and somewhat flustered, just nodded and let himself be pushed along to the kitchen, unaware of Derek’s hand practically slapping Matteo’s away to replace it on Stiles’ hip.
“Oh, uh, bye,” Stiles called out belatedly to Matteo, who just waved back while rubbing his hand. “I had fun!”
Only when they’d reached the kitchen where the din of the music faded a bit did Derek say, “’You had fun?’ You didn’t even know his name.”
“It was kinda fun dancing, I guess. ” Stiles pressed his hands to his cheeks. “Am I really that red? I barely drank anything.... Oh, maybe it’s the blush or whatever Lydia put on that makes me look red.”
“Mm, maybe,” said Derek. He tossed Stiles a bottle of water from the fridge. “And you two weren’t even dancing.”
Stiles flushed as he rubbed his shoulders—they still ached from finals. “I meant earlier. Before, uh. Y’know.”
“Before what?” Derek raised his eyebrows. “Are you making out with random people now? Are you turning into Isaac?”
Stiles snorted and nearly choked on his water. “I’m not!”
“Not what?”
“Not making out with random people or turning into Isaac,” he spluttered on a laugh. “He’s not that bad.”
“He’s lucky he’s a werewolf,” muttered Derek, and this time Stiles really did spit out his water.
“Oh my god, look what you did!” Stiles tore paper towels off the kitchen roll to dab at his now dripping wet face and droplets on his skirt. Thankfully, most of the water he’d spat out had ended up on the floor rather than himself—well, thankfully for him.
Derek just stood there looking far too amused by his predicament. “What I did? You did that to yourself.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed another wad of paper towels to bend down and wipe water off both the table and floor. “Does Isaac know you roast him to the moon and back when he’s not around?”
Silence.
“...Are you wearing panties under that?”
“Wha—” Stiles straightened so fast he gave himself whiplash and slapped his hands over his ass, holding his skirt down. “I’m— It was part of the costume!” he stammered with burning cheeks.
Derek rubbed his face. “Oh god, this just gets worse and worse.”
“I know I look weird okay, but Lydia and them insisted,” grumbled Stiles.
“’Weird’. You think you look ‘weird’,” echoed Derek. “Then what about that guy just now that wanted to fuck you?”
Stiles’ mouth flapped open and closed at Derek’s bluntness—he didn’t think his face could heat up any further. “I— You don’t know that!”
“Right. My bad,” said Derek. “He just wanted to play a nice, steamy game of ping pong.”
“Oh my g—” Stiles smacked Derek’s shoulder with a horrified laugh. “Shut up! Listen, it’s a party. He probably didn’t give a shit what I look like, alright? Probably thought I look weird and awkward but kinda average y’know, or maybe thought it was fitting since he dressed up as a wolf and I dressed up as red riding hood, so he was like ‘hey, I’ll ask them to dance and maybe get some’. Which didn’t happen for him. I mean, I was considering it for a hot second, but….”
“But what?” asked Derek, and Stiles realized that he’d been musing out loud.
He shrugged. “But nothing. I just didn’t feel like it. I’ve realized tonight that I’m going to be old and boring with a bunch of cats and marshmallows and that sounds kind of nice, actually.”
Derek grimaced. “Cats?”
Stiles let out a laugh. “Hey, they’re cute little gremlins, okay?” he said as a few people meandered into the kitchen beside him and Derek to help themselves to the punch.
More than half of them eyed Derek up and down—Stiles couldn’t blame them.
But sadly for them, Derek was on his way to being taken. (Or already taken? Isaac definitely would’ve screamed in the group chat if Derek had gotten together with his lady friend, but Stiles wouldn’t put it past Derek to keep his private life, well, private.)
One of them, a lovely girl dressed quite stunningly as Snow White, commented out-of-the-blue, “I love your costume! You look so cute!”
Stiles had to look around before realizing that she was talking to him, and not for the first time that night, he wondered what the hell she saw in him that Lydia and them all apparently saw.
Or maybe she was just being nice and Lydia was playing a practical joke on him.
That would be more believable, honestly, besides the fact that Lydia would never play around when it came to fashion unless he’d done something really wrong to get on her bad side.
And then the girl wanted a picture with him, probably because they were both dressed as fairytale characters, and Stiles had agreed in a sort of flustered, ‘I don’t know what else to say’ frenzy, when he gasped from something wet splattering on his back.
“What the—” He turned his head to see a spilled cup of punch on the edge of the table, a good quarter of its contents now on his back and the rest on the floor. “Where did this come from?”
“It’s been there the whole time,” Derek told him as he handed him the paper towel roll yet again.
“Really? But I don’t remember seeing it....” Stiles trailed off and groaned as he tried to wipe it off the best he could—Derek haphazardly cleaned the punch off the floor using his shoe and a wad of paper towels. “Ugh, now I’m all sticky. Why am I always so clumsy? It’s a curse.”
“Or maybe you had some help,” said the Snow White girl with a somewhat knowing laugh as she walked out of the kitchen with a cup of punch and a “Good luck!”
Stiles just sort of stared blankly at her. It didn’t help that the people now trickling out seemed to be smiling and glancing at him in a weird sort of way, like they knew something he didn’t, and no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of what the crap she was talking about, so he just stopped thinking about it.
“Like I need help being clumsy,” huffed Stiles. He tossed his paper towels in the trashcan, then glanced at Derek, the two of them now once again alone in the kitchen. “You don’t need to help me clean up my mess, y’know. I mean, thanks, but you should actually enjoy the party instead of making sure I drink water. Which I think I’ve drunk quadruple the amount of compared to the punch.”
“Better safe than sorry,” said Derek.
“Yeah, well, I think my safe ass is gonna call it a night,” said Stiles with a sigh and a stretch of his arms as he rubbed his shoulders. “I’ve had enough partying and spilling things and now I feel tired and sticky.”
“What’s wrong with your back?”
Stiles had to digest Derek’s random question for a solid few seconds before realizing it was because he’d probably been periodically rubbing his shoulders through the night. “Oh. It’s just from studying for finals. Y’know, hunching over my desk. I’ve never had the best posture so they still ache.”
Derek seemed to muse over something for a brief moment. “Want me to give them a try?” he suggested. “I give great massages.”
Stiles stared at him, mind not comprehending.
Derek raised his eyebrows and cracked his knuckles as emphasis—Stiles snapped back to reality at the sound.
“What, now?” asked Stiles even though he mostly wanted to ask why Derek would even want to massage his scrawny ass shoulders. “I’m sure your massages are great on other beings of your nature, but I hope you realize that I am a weak and fragile human being.”
“I’m not going to puncture holes through you, Stiles.”
“Great,” said Stiles, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks. I feel so much better.”
“But no, not here.” Derek straightened from where he’d been leaning against the kitchen counter. “My place? We can order some real food,” he said, with a pointed look of distaste at the plate of cheese cubes along with dip and chips sitting out.
Stiles laughed, partly at Derek’s disgust at the food options but mostly from sheer nervous shock, because when was the last time he’d been to Derek’s place?
(And no, him leaving anonymous gifts did not count.)
Actually scratch that—when was the last time he and Derek had talked this much alone? They did chat whenever the group got together, but Stiles didn’t really count that.
“So, what’ll it be?” asked Derek. “Sweet relief or endless suffering?”
Stiles let out a little snort in his laughter, much to his embarrassment, but Derek thankfully didn’t comment on it. “It’s not that bad! But does this mean you’re treating me to free food?”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I see what you’re trying to do.”
“Wait, but you just got here,” Stiles suddenly remembered. “Don’t you want to stay for a bit? You’ve just been watching me make a mess in the kitchen.”
“Do you think I’m here because I want to be?” muttered Derek. He placed a warm hand on Stiles’ back and pushed him out the kitchen entrance to the front door. “You’re my excuse out if Isaac or Lydia catch me.”
Stiles snickered. “Oh, I see what you’re trying to do.”
“Just shut up and walk.”
“If the plan is that I’m too drunk to drive myself home, I probably should be staggering rather than walking, shouldn’t I?” teased Stiles.
Someone bumped into Stiles and he nearly fell over—they steadied his arm just in time, but Stiles didn’t even get a chance to look at them or say thanks before Derek shoved him even faster through the crowd of people.
“What, did you see Isaac or Lydia?” asked Stiles.
Derek suddenly threw his leather jacket over Stiles’ shoulders—when had he taken it off?—and scooped him up in one arm like he weighed nothing. “Something like that,” he muttered.
In the blink of an eye, they waltzed out the front door scot-free—and freezing cold.