"Evening," said Stiles, slowly rotating his chair toward the source of disturbance and doing his absolute best to give off a villainous vibe. He clicked the lamp on his table back on and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. And... of course, he just had to start rambling.
"Man, I almost didn't hear you creeping up to my window! I haven't until just a few moments ago. You could have given me a heart attack! Wait, can I still get a heart attack, or will my super-regenerating powers prevent it from happening? And if it doesn't, will the damage to my health be repaired so quickly I won't be able to feel it? Hmm… That's a thought." Any chance of making the desired impression stick was irreparably ruined.
Derek Hale, his apparent visitor, froze halfway into the room like a deer — hah! — caught in the headlights, one leg up in the air and the other still on the windowsill; a lively, superheroes patterned curtain obscured half of his head.
Meanwhile, Stiles relentlessly pelted him with questions. "Anyway, are you secretly a ninja? Are there werewolf ninjas? Is it a thing? Please, tell me it is! And, of course, you trained with the Silent Werewolf Ninja Monk Orden high up in the mountains of Tibet to bring justice to the world. Or was to avenge your family? It's where you disappeared to, right?"
"No, we moved to New York," said not exactly a ninja after a lengthy pause.
"Oh, that's… Actually, it's very disappointing but definitely more realistic." Stiles even nodded for emphasis.
For some time Derek continued to look like he was internally debating the merits of his decision to come here at all, but then his face lost a somewhat dumbfounded expression it'd held since the first words of Stiles's speech. Jaw stubbornly clenched, he finally invaded the room with all his limbs.
"Are you always visiting people through their windows? Haven't you heard of doors? They're usually located in much more convenient places. Like, you know, on a ground level."
For the sake of his sanity, Derek — rudely if you ask Stiles — choose to ignore Stiles's unsatisfied curiosity. "Is that a lava lamp?" he asked, momentarily distracted by a bright thing on the nightstand by the bed.
"Hey, don't diss lava lamps! They're awesome! It's the best invention of the sixties, calming and whatnot."
With a shrug meant to convey his total indifference, Derek stalked forward to loom over his host, all 'in-your-face' brooding and threatening 'I-will-kill-you-slowly' eyebrows, forcing Stiles to lean back in his swivel chair. It creaked.
"Is this your friendly face? Man, if it is, no wonder you are so easily confused with a murderer. I strongly recommend you to attend some sort of a seminar. Maybe a group training. Something like 'How to not come across as a serial killer in ten simple steps' for a start. It'd do you a world of good, I can tell. So, what's up with this social visit?"
Derek's first instinct was to glare with all his might, but he managed to remember his original purpose and composed himself. After a deep, not at calming breath, he began: "You and me, Stiles? We're brothers now." For some reason, it sounded suspiciously like a start of a speech many times rehearsed in front of a mirror.
"No, we're not. I refuse. Me niego," right away vehemently rejected would-be brother, shaking his head from side to side. "Please don't take offence, and don't rip out my throat just because I'm really not into that 'forbidden fruit' kinda deal. No matter what popular TV-shows are selling, I'm not buying it! Nuh-uh, no way. Incestous romance is so totally not my apple it's from a completely different tree. Granted, it would add 'supernatural' flavor to our budding relationship, I will give you that, but let's not overcomplicate things."
"What?" croaked a known murder suspect.
"Dude, you ok? Are you always this pale, or is it a special occasion thing only? For a moment here, I thought your heart stopped. Or well, more like I heard it skipped a beat — totally awesome freakish hearing, yay — but whatever. You're not gonna suddenly die on me, are you? Please, don't! There's really no need to prove my heart attack theory! It would be hard to explain to my Dad, who is the Sheriff, you remember, as I'm not sure I can successfully hide a body.
"What's your weight anyway? I can certainly try and maybe even lift you up, fantastic supernatural powers here, but I can tell right away — hauling your hulking mass for any extended period of time will be an awfully strenuous manual labor. So not a piece of cake. Oh, hey, and now you are blushing."
Derek shook his head, probably trying to dislodge the verbal equivalent of cotton stuffing that was shoved into his cranium, and with a desperate resolve of someone not used to famous Stilinski' charm, attempted to move their conversation back on track. "The bite is a gift." His pronunciation was as clear and precise as humanly — again, hah! — possible with violently gritted teeth.
"And with great power comes great responsibility, and all that," interrupted him recently gifted, clearly labeling the health issue as no longer important. "So I figured, I need to cleanse my aura, clean chakras, and maybe better my karma. I've already started making a plan!" Partially visible from behind his back laptop screen, which displayed half a dozen tabs with New Age stuff and an open Word document, silently confirmed his words.
"And it's not like being a mythical creature is such a hardship. Well, ok, nightmares and constant fear of losing control royally suck, but otherwise, it's awesome." Stiles paused for a show of consideration. "Except for hunters. Let's not forget about our friendly neighborhood hunters. They totally suck, too. Aside from that, I'm peachy keen with this whole gig. Really, I am. You don't need to sell me what's already bought. This werewolf transformation did a world of great to my physical shape. Didn't do a thing for ADHD, though, more's the pity. But it's not like I haven't lived my whole life with it." His attempt at a casual shrug failed spectacularly.
Seeing a possible opening for his intended discussion, Derek decided to make a last-ditch effort and plunged ahead. "We should —"
"Stick together? Yeah, absolutely! I totally agree with you. What with a murderous Alpha on the loose and hunters around practically every corner. So, I'll see you around?"
Stiles' new were-buddy nodded, though to be fair, all his demeanor screamed about discomfort and a strong desire to be anywhere but here so loudly, even deaf Mrs. Carlton two blocks over could probably hear it. For him their business for the evening (and hopefully for the foreseeable future) was concluded.
By the time Stiles thought about offering to exchange phone numbers, Derek was already across the street.
If you spot mistakes of any kind, kill'em, kill'em with fire! *laughs maniacally*