pale-silver-comb:

“Daily reminder that you’re one cool cat,” Stiles says, sitting next to Derek in the middle of the library. 

Derek looks around, confused. The last time he checked, no one had ever referred to Derek as cool, let alone a cat (he wants to laugh at the irony) and the last time he double checked (yes he’s aware he’s pathetic, Laura, shut up) Stiles Stilinski, star athlete in both lacrosse and all you can eat curly fry competitions, did not know his name. 

“Um,” he says, because what else are you supposed to say when someone like Stiles Stilinski sits down next to you in class? Derek isn’t too sure whether to blush or move away but his body quickly decides for him and he scowls, trying to hide the redness of his cheeks behind his book. His blush deepens, realising the book isn’t even part of the school curriculum – something Stiles will certainly know – but one from home: The Roman Invasion of Ancient Greece. 

Derek should probably be relieved it isn’t his worn out copy of The Iliad with the semi homo-erotic cover Erica jokingly gave him for his birthday last year. Small mercies, he supposes.     

Stiles grins. “I like it when you blush like that,” he says, boldly. “It’s adorable. Like, really adorable.” He laughs, then frowns, probably at the wary expression on Derek’s face. “Shit, I’m making you uncomfortable.” He looks genuinely concerned all of a sudden, brows knitting together, and Derek has to fight the onslaught of confused butterflies currently dizzying themselves in his stomach. 

“Um,” he says again, blinking. “No?”

“No, as in…please leave? Or no, as in…” Stiles winces, holding up his hands. “Neither option is good here, is it.” He sighs, swinging his  chair back. “I read that line in a book once. The cool cat thing. It was really effective, worked out well.” He scratches the back of his head, mumbling something that sounds like so much for practising in the mirror. “I don’t know why I thought it was going to work on you.” 

Derek bites his lip, looking at the clock. He has exactly fifteen minutes before class begins. He’s not sure why that’s important, of all things, but it gives him a second to breathe, to think. He feels like he’s in a romantic comedy; he’s just not sure if he’s supposed to be the unlucky-in-love main character, or the unfortunate, cringe worthy side sick.

Derek knows Stiles is an asshole but he’s also seen how he goes toe to toe with Jackson Whittemore when he’s being a bully. Derek prays Stiles lives up to his reputation. 

“Neither do I,” he whispers, after a moment. “History geeks like me don’t tend to like when people mock them with words like cool.” 

Stiles frowns again, jerking round in his seat so fast it makes Derek jump. “Who said I was mocking you?”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did.”

“Let’s just say it’s happened before,” Derek sighs, closing his eyes. “Come on, Stiles, you’ve never even talked to me before today. You either want something, like to copy my homework, or this is about to be some kind of embarrassing practical joke.” Derek’s heart sinks at the dawning realisation this just might be some kind of joke – why else would Stiles talk to him? – but the confused look on Stiles’ face offers him a little hope. 

“Okay, one, I resent the homework comment, man. Not all jocks are dumb, you know. You’d want me on your team during a Zombie apocalypse. Fact.”

Derek flushes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He chews on his lip. It’s awfully distracting and Derek tries not to stare. If this is a joke, he doesn’t want to make things worse for himself by revealing things he’s done a pretty good job up until now keeping hidden, even from Boyd and Erica. 

Eventually, Stiles stops chewing. 

“You’re right,” he says. “I do want something.” Derek does his best to hide his disappointment. “I want to go out with you.”

Derek can’t help it, he laughs. “What?”

“You, me. A date.” Stiles shoots him finger guns, offering him a lopsided smile. It’s ridiculous and perfect and Derek can’t look away. He’d even go as far as to say literally. “And you’re wrong. I have talked to you before. Pre-school. I offered you some mud. You rejected it.”

Derek thinks back, raises an eyebrow. “It had worms in it. And how is here, Derek, hold this piece of dirt, talking to me?”

“I thought mud castles were romantic!” Stiles throws his hands in the air, flushing a little, nearly causing both himself and the chair to go flying. “I was crushed when you turned me down, dude. You broke my little heart. I thought I’d never love again!”

Derek’s eyes widen. “Love?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “What. You telling me you never liked someone so much as a kid you were convinced you’d one day marry them?”

Derek shakes his head, then, feeling daring, reaches out to take Stiles’ hand. He’d feel smug about how sweaty Stiles’ palm was, if he wasn’t aware his heart was about to beat right out of his chest. 

“Maybe not convinced, exactly. More like…fantasised?” He lowers his gaze, shy, hoping Stiles doesn’t manage to infer fantasised actually means Derek has a wedding album stashed under his bed with cut out pictures of men in tuxes who look suspiciously like him. One cut out in particular has moles, lots of them, and Derek feels his cheeks redden further when he thinks about how many nights he’s spent looking at that page, specifically. 

Stiles grins before standing up, reminding Derek less of a star athlete and more of a skittish deer, eyes wide. Derek bites the inside of his cheek. 

“Wait, did this actually work?” he asks. “Did you just agree to go out with me?”

Derek looks out into the hallway. No one is there with cameras or phones. No one appears to be listening in. “This…really isn’t a joke?”

Stiles shakes his head, serious, crossing his heart. “Yoda’s honour.” 

Derek smiles, snorting. “Okay then,” he whispers, shrugging, not too sure why he’s trying to act cool now since he’s still partially clutching his book, fingers trapped between the pages, afraid of losing his place. He really should invest in more bookmarks, especially since Erica keeps stealing his. 

“Great.” Stiles fist pumps the air, kisses Derek’s hand like this is a Jane Austen novel and not an American high school, and winks. “I am going to woo you so hard, Derek Hale. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was five. I have plans. I have milkshake recipes and graphs! Top ten best dates, courtesy of the eighties!”

Derek has no idea what he’s talking about, watching as Stiles runs from the room. He ducks his head, pretty sure he’s not going to be able to stop grinning for the rest of the week as he hears the words, Scott, he said YES!!! ring down the hallway.