Derek loves everything about books. He loves reading. He loves going into a bookstore and finding a comfy chair to sink into and reading for hours on end. He loves writing books, too. He had a whole binder full of short stories that he had created until the fire destroyed absolutely everything. Not that he cared about losing them when he had simultaneously lost his whole family.

It takes him so many years to get back into writing again. But, when the Alpha Pack is gone and the Nemeton is finally destroyed, things in Beacon Hills settle down, and he picks up a pencil again.

He could use the word processor on the computer the pack got him for Christmas, but there's something poetic about the way a pencil glides across a piece of paper. The way your hand forms each and every stroke. Seeing line after line fill up and come to life on the page. Writing on paper is personal. It's intimate in a way you don't find when you type something. Writing on paper is making love to your soul mate, and writing on a computer is having a good time with a prostitute- in the end you get the same result, but the love and intimacy is so much less profound in the latter.

Derek gets his inspiration from two things he loves- any kind of coffee and a certain brown haired spazz that's been a pain in his neck for close to four years. The thing is- no one was supposed to read his new story. No one. Ever. Especially said brown haired spazz. The pack is all out of town for their first year of college, so Derek doesn't think to hide his story. It's sitting on the coffee table in his new and improved apartment when Stiles charges inside.

Stiles throws his bag on the carpet and flings himself onto the couch. "Derek!" When he doesn't get an answer, he sits up. "Great. The one time I need help researching something, you're not here!"

He leans over to pull his laptop out of his bag. That's when he sees it- two stacks of scattered papers filled with Derek's surprisingly flowery script. He picks up the first page and sees that its working title is "My Life as a Coffee Shop AU" with a note to change all the names later. He's secretly believed Derek was a closet fanboy for a couple years now- after the way he saw him freak out about the Game of Thrones box set they saw in the mall that one time.

Picking up the whole stack, he sinks into the couch to read it. Derek begins the story by talking about his life in New York- going to architecture school even though he now wishes he had studied Literature, living in a studio apartment with his sister, going to a tiny coffee shop around the corner every day and ordering a double mochachino with extra chocolate sprinkles. Stiles wonders how much of this is true and how much is fiction. It all seems so heartfelt that he knows he hasn't gotten to the AU part yet.

"Laura died that winter. We had always planned to move back to Beacon Hills after I finished school but had never got around to doing it. So, in early January, I packed up my stuff and moved back home… alone."

Stiles knows he shouldn't be reading this; Derek would rip his throat out if he knew. But, it's good. It's really good. Who knew Derek could actually use words, form sentences and all that jazz? He starts his laptop and plugs in his handy-dandy As Seen on TV portable scanner. It takes a while, but he finally saves a copy of all eighty pages. He has everything back in place and is nonchalantly typing an essay in the kitchen when Derek comes home.

"What are you doing here?" Derek asks him. He sounds shocked yet excited. Which is strange Stiles thinks, but he doesn't say anything.

"I needed your help researching something for school."

"So you drove all the way back from Berkeley to ask me a question?" Derek quirks his eyebrows.

"You got me grumpy-bear. I came back because I missed you."

Derek rolls his eyes so hard he veers into Peter-the-drama-queen territory. "Yeah right." He pulls out a stool beside Stiles and sits down. "You could have just texted me the question, though."

"Would you have answered?"

"Probably not."

"Would you have known how?"

"Y… probably not."

Stiles throws his head back in a sharp laugh. Derek's lips slightly quirk into a soft smile.

Stiles itches and twitches to read more of Derek's story, but he doesn't get the chance to do so for a few days. First, he's researching with Derek. Then, he's spending a day with his dad. Then, he's headed back to school and totally swamped by work for close to a week. Finally, he has everything done, so he curls up in the covers on his bed and pulls up the files.

"It took me weeks to find a decent coffee shop in this stupid town. The baristas would take one look at me and do one of two things. Sometimes they'd run. (And, really? I'm not that scary- no matter what some people may say about the density of my eyebrows… or bulk of my muscles… or my penchant for leather.) But, if they'd stay long enough to take my order, they'd get mad at me for making fun of their profession and hand me a plain, bitter, black coffee instead.

Every single shop did this to me. I missed New York. I missed Laura. I missed my life. No one understood me, but I guess I really didn't give them an opportunity to learn to understand me.

I walked down a street on the other side of town one day. That's where I found The Coffee Shop- wow, how original."

Stiles can't help but laugh at Derek's dry humor- all those little additions he adds into his story. All the mentions of coffee, though, have made him start to crave some himself. He slides out of the covers and grabs the box of espresso caramels the pack gave him for his birthday. He pops one into his mouth and then flops back down into bed.

"The café was tucked into a row of shops right across the cobblestone street from the police department. 'Clever' I thought, since the whole front display window was filled with donuts. I decided to give the place a try. I jogged across the street and squeezed the antique brass door knob. The bell above the door tinkled clearly in the calm silence of the java shop.

'I'll be right with you,' a voice echoed from somewhere behind the counter. I nodded, though I doubt they saw me. I took the chance to look around the store. What I assumed to be a quaint shop was in reality a very eclectic kawiarnia. For all the antique brick and brass outside, the inside is filled with satirical miscellany.

'Hey,' the voice says again, and I look up. I'm silent for a moment as I take in the person before me. He is the most resplendent human being I've ever seen."

Stiles pulls up a new window and goes to . He types in the unfamiliar word and pulls up the definition. "Resplendent: attractive and impressive through being richly colorful. Oh. That makes sense. Okay, 'He is the most attractive human being I've ever… HE is the most attractive." Stiles' eyes widen comically. "He's gay?"

His body is overcome by a sense of want. He blushes. Derek would never be interested in him. He sighs and continues reading through Derek's ornate words.

"His eyes are the most beautiful orbs I've ever seen- abyssal in their depth and hot whiskey in their color. His hair is honey brown and coiffed to perfection. The dusky light glinting through the window casts soft shadows across his slight up-turned nose and cascades down upon his blossom pink lips. His lips part slightly, and I am entranced.

'Can I help you?' he breathes. I focus on him, realizing I have been staring at him for close to two full minutes. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can he is speaking again. 'No wait, let me guess!'

Oh great, he's one of those people, too. 'Regular coffee- black?'

He scrunches up his nose and squints at me. 'Eww, really? Okay, whatever dude.' He turns around to grab a white porcelain cup, and I stop him.

'What would you have guessed?' I ask.

He bites his lip and leans closer to me. He peers at me, and he smells of cinnamon and rosewood. I never want to leave. He turns his head to the side and breathes softly through his freckled nose. 'Café mocha with dark chocolate drizzle and a dusting of nutmeg.'

'Sounds good to me.'

'Okie-dokie. I'll have it out in a minute. Please take a seat.'

I turn around and head to an open table. Now that I really look around at the shop instead of just at the details, I see that I'm the only customer there. Soon, the tall, young man places the drink on the table in front of me.

'I added a cinnamon glazed donut to your order. That's on me.'

My heart rate spikes as he smiles and sits down at the table across from me. 'Thanks,' I manage to force out with an even voice.

'Are you new in town?" he asks.

'Yes and no. I'm originally from here, but I've been living in New York for the past few years,' I explain.

He throws his head back, exposing his long, slender neck, and laughs. 'You lived in New York, and you came back here!? You're messed up, dude.'

I smile at him despite the insult. 'What's your name?' He points to his nametag as if I'm an idiot. I look at it and read his scribbled writing- 'Hello! Yoda my name is.'

He laughs again. Of course he laughs again.

'No, really. My name's Derek. What's your name?'

He grins at me. 'Stiles.'

Stiles chokes on the caramel that has become lodged in the back of his throat following his sudden gasp. "Oh, no way!"