Derek wasn't particularly fond of the food Erica's father offered at his local diner-the hamburgers, shakes, and other fried foods weren't of a lesser quality than any other establishment in Beacon Hills, nor did any of it tantalize his palette. Regardless of his standards, Derek never failed to frequent the restaurant in the early afternoon on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, when he knew a particular server would be working.

Every time Derek would grip the cold steel of the door handle and pull it open, the wind chime dangling inside near the entrance would sense the sudden shift in wind current and chatter a sweet melody, one that complimented the slow peace that was stagnant business. This is why when Derek would enter, the only server working would hustle to the front to greet him with a menu, a genuine warmth gleaming through his professional guise.

"Good afternoon, Derek! Another fine Tuesday we're having today, I hope?" Stiles held the menu close to him as he spoke, not bothering to lead Derek to his booth just yet, stalling even though Derek usually spent close to two hours in the restaurant before it got busier.

"It is now," he said with a grin, relishing in the fact that a blush swept over Stiles' cheeks before he turned to seat him. Derek often had class in the mornings, so he considered a pit stop at the diner a treat to himself, even if he spent a fair amount of money on adequate, bland food that challenged him to work out often to keep his athletic figure in check. It was still a treat because he was able to see Stiles.

Reyes' Classic Cooking was a rather small establishment, seating oriented like a cubic U-shape that curved around the kitchen area. Stiles always sat Derek in the same booth near the end of the hallway, one that had a convenient view of over half the diner, including the entrance. It was no mystery to Derek why Stiles chose this booth for Derek to sit, but he liked to keep his knowledge to himself.

Derek sat down with his back to the entrance as Stiles rested the menu before him. He often took this time to quietly appreciate his nice window view of the roadside before Stiles came back with his Pepsi; he never bothered to inspect the menu simply because he was no stranger to anything the Reyes family had to offer. He nearly tried everything save for the Venison. Still, Derek would postpone ordering anything because he would be too busy talking to Stiles, who at this point would always sit across from Derek after placing the man's drink down. The invitation was long ago established as an open one. Stiles would sometimes sporadically glance behind him, but rude is the last thing Derek would consider it. The quickly glance up would sometimes be followed with a hushed apology and a beeline for the door. Derek would only grin and wait for his return.

This was often how the afternoons of Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays played out. It had been close to six months since Derek began to come to the diner for the purpose of seeing Stiles, and in this time the two boys grew to know each other pretty well-each others' hobbies, past, schedules, and most everything in between. It wasn't uncommon for gaps of silence to draw out. They were only natural, but it's not the conversation that matter necessarily. It's the company.

Some days are more memorable than others of course, like one Wednesday in February. Derek enters the restaurant and wipes his feet on the rug by the threshold. Stiles doesn't immediately appear the way he usually does and Derek glances to his right, down the restaurant hall where he hears hushed pleas and coos. As if sensing his staring Stiles peers up from their usual booth and reaches down into Derek's seat to murmur something before quickly approaching him.

"Stiles, what were you-?"

"Doing?" Stiles interjects, curtailing a bemused Derek, "nothing much." He purses his lips to drown his petulant giddy. "I'm merely passing the time with a pleasant surprise," he says with no further prologue as he walks Derek to the booth.

He looks cautiously into Derek's hidden cushion before turning back to him with a smile Derek can't help but describe as precious. "She was loitering outside and I couldn't just leave her out there," Stiles began as he slowly placed the menu down. "She could have been toted away by the mean town sheriff." Derek finally looked down in his seat to see a small gray cat lying comfortably across the green and yellow cushion, tensing when looking up at the new man.

"Please don't scare her," Stiles said as he moved closer to Derek's side, brushing against his arm to console the cat. Like many of the incidental physical exchanges that take place between the two of them, Derek over thinks them for a moment longer than he likes to think he does. This doesn't stop him from responding.

"What makes you think I'm going to scare her? Why do you have a cat in here?"

"SHHHH!" Stiles hisses as he pulls Derek into the booth; they're both sitting in the seat Stiles usually sits in to keep an eye on the door. Today they are sharing the spot, and Derek can't complain.

"Mr. Reyes doesn't know she's in the restaurant. He would definitely flip out."

"Then why bring her in?" Derek suggests blankly, balancing his focus between the current situation and the fact that Stiles still has his hand gripped under his triceps.

Stiles pauses for a moment, never pulling his gaze from Derek's. Derek doesn't back down either. The stalemate doesn't persist for long. "I told you, Derek. I don't want her getting picked up for vagrancy."

Even if Derek could reply, the chimes near the front of the restaurant clamored as Stiles began pushing Derek up from the booth. "Stay with Miss Mittens," Stiles commands as Derek is standing.

"You named it?"

"Sort of, it's a work in progress. Please and thank you," he sings as he's rushing down the carpet to meet the sudden party of six.

Derek's thick, black eyebrows knit together, the skin between them pushing up like a newly formed mountain. He didn't like when big parties came in. It only meant that Stiles had to spend more time actually doing his job, which meant less time for Derek.

He would have sulked in the booth like smoldering ash if it wasn't for Miss Mittens pulling him back to reality-literally pawing at him to focus on her instead. Derek wretched his hand back as he cast his glare down. In that moment he couldn't deny that the cat was nothing short of adorable. The opaque green of her eyes shined wide and bright against her dark gray fur and black pupils. He reached down slowly to offer the cat the neutrality pact that was his hand, petting her head when she pushed into it.

He eased the cat over and sat next to her as he looked back to see that Stiles sat the party near the opposite end of the diner—the usual procedure on days when Derek was present. He's more use to this happening on Saturdays, but today is a Wednesday. This is not okay.

Derek of course realizes an easy solution to all of this, one that does not include Derek coercing Stiles into quitting his job. He knows he could ask the boy out…on a date. Or just as friends. Derek would much prefer a date though. He can't will himself to do this however. Every time he thinks about it, he can't help but be reminded of the times Stiles has talked about his favorite crush: Lydia Martin. Stiles tells him in concert with his Lydia spiels how he has no chance with her and that he's totally accepted this, but this of course means that Stiles can't be attracted to him. He's not a girl, which this Lydia girl is. And he is not, Derek tells himself again, which means Stiles can't be attracted to him. Because he's not as funny or friendly or as wonderful as Stiles. Which means Stiles can't be attracted to him. He's not good enough.

He tells himself over and over again these things, and yet Derek continues to come to the adequate local diner on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday afternoons when he knows Stiles has no other choice but to serve him. He always comes alone. It must be a sad sight, for Stiles to seat him so often alone. He probably sits with him out of pity. All of this Derek tells himself as he subconsciously pets the cat in his lap.

He feels her purring vibrating through her body and into his own. He looks down to see she is practically in bliss, which makes him feel warm and good. It reminds him of the kitty he once owned before…before he couldn't have the kitty any longer; before he couldn't hold on to his parents any longer; before the source of all the pain, guilt, and depression in his life culminated to one single memory.

He pushed it all away again, like usual. He continued to caress Miss Mittens, watching her fur float around like dandelion spores. He forced himself to smile and think about when Stiles will come back to him.

Derek heard footsteps approach from behind and he inhaled with anticipation, excited to finally talk to the boy. He inhaled a little too much through his nose and felt his senses goes hazy with cat hair.

"Have you ordered yet, sir?"

Hell on Earth.

Derek relinquished a great sneeze as Mr. Reyes stood behind him. Miss Mittens peeled off his lap quicker than a cat would in a warehouse full of rocking chairs, disappearing through the diner.

"Young man, what do you think you're doing with an animal in here!?" the owner exclaimed as he backed away from Derek.

Seriously, Hell on Earth.

Derek burst out of the booth, cat hair raining off his chest in slow waves. He immediately scoured the restaurant that was in his direct line of sight, ignoring Mr. Reyes all together. Stiles trusted him to watch Miss Mittens—to keep her safe—and he failed. He failed like he does with a lot more things than he cares to recall.

"Sir—"

"SHIT!" another familiar voice hollers from the other side of the diner, definitely too audibly. Stiles runs across the restaurant and meet his boss and Derek. "Missy— !" he yelps.

The tall, blond man turns to Stiles, a glimmer of understanding peering in his eyes. "So what is it, Mr. Stilinski: Mr. or Miss?

Is that embarrassment or is that the feeling of hell's hot magma melting Derek's face off?

Derek could only stare at Stiles as the other boy fumbled with his apron. "Well um, of course it's Mr. Unless you're identifying as another gender, wh-which is great," he huffed out. "Oh um, not the point. Sorry."

"Correct, that is not the point," Mr. Reyes said, his eyes wide with disbelief. "The point is that your friend here seems to have brought in a cat, and you let him. That is not ok—"

"No Derek didn't bring her, I did!" Stiles interjected, glancing frantically at Derek before looking back at his boss.

"Please, tell me why?" At this point Mr. Reyes didn't even looked surprised anymore. Stiles however looked like he was going to snap with nerves.

"Because she would have been picked up for vagrancy…."

Both Mr. Reyes and Stiles looked in Derek's direction. Stiles' eyebrows shot up like a weight hit from a hammer carnival game. Mr. Reyes looked bemused as well, but a lot less terrified like Stiles.

Derek glanced between them both and pursed his lips and smiled, the awkward tension between the three of them pawing at them like a…like a stray cat at their ankles.

Mr. Reyes looked down to see Miss Mittens prod his leg before brushing herself over his leg. All three of them looked down at this and dammit all if it wasn't the cutest thing to happen all day.

"AwwWWWwwww," Stiles sang as he watched Mr. Reyes pick up the feline, his boss shooting him a stern look. He chuckled nervously and continued to strain his apron fabric. His boss however held the cat and pet it some more.

After a brief period of watching Mr. Reyes pet the cat the silence was broken. "After today no more animals in the restaurant," he directed at Stiles before carrying the cat towards the back.

Stiles was silent for a second before speaking up. "Where are you taking her?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice as he walked in his direction.

"I'm going to let Danny know I have a special ingredient for him to put in the chili today," he called back before walking through the kitchen doors.

Stiles peeled after him, shouting no no no's under his breath. In his haste Stiles couldn't hear Derek's laughter booming from his chest.

Stiles came out of the kitchen a few minutes later to find Derek brushing cat hair off the booth cushion on the floor. "So Mr. Reyes said he's going to keep Missy in his office, so she doesn't run around and get hair in the food."

"That's probably for the best," Derek offered, looking down at his shirt as he brushed off more hair as he glanced up at the boy.

Stiles stares at the action, his eyes lingering on his chest even as he speaks. "Yeah…maybe for the best," he murmurs.

Derek smiles, imagining the reason for Stiles' sudden fuzzy state is because of him—a laughable concept.

"Oh, I never asked if you wanted to place an order!" Stiles says as he stirs himself.

"You know I don't exactly prefer the food here," Derek claimed casually, not thinking about what he was actually saying. "I'll pass for today." He glanced a look up at Stiles, registering the bemused look on his face a little too late.

Too close! Too close to letting the cat out of the bag.

"Oh," Stiles conceded, looking around Derek, but never actually at him.

His breath hitched inside himself. Derek felt his heart swell as he felt the blood rush to his face. He could feel his body creaking, his every movement stagnant and strained.

"Well…" Stiles began again, a few pulse beats of blood in Derek's ear later. "We could go someplace else…someplace where you do prefer the food…together. If you want." The boy shoved his hands into his apron; he began to nervously fiddle with his few amount of dollar bills he got from tips, the worn paper smooth against his fingertips.

Derek looked up from a particularly thick cluster of cat hair at Stiles, seriously questioning his listening skills. He stands up to face Stiles, the other boy having no other choice but to reciprocate. "When do you get off?" Derek asks blankly.

A surprised flick of joy crosses Stiles' face. "Uh, seven."

"See you at seven then?" Derek proposes. The last thing he can think about is eating. All he can focus on is how with every passing second Stiles is beaming more and more.

"See you at seven."