As the rest of his life goes, Scott was wrong.
The first sign came after he was able to get an hour to himself to unpack before his roommate showed up. He entered into the room and didn't say hello or even nod to acknowledge Scott. The taller, scruffy boy walked in, placed his bags and items onto the floor in front of his bed and immediately passed out on the mattress without any sheets or pillows. Scott tried not to look at his sleeping roommate. He wasn't going to wake him up just to make sure it was the Derek Hale whose name he had on the sheet of paper on his small, makeshift desk. He was going to take his nap as confirmation.
He was setting up his computer when Stiles made his way into the room without knocking.
"Dude, I thought you needed a key to get in," Scott laughed, not looking up from his work of setting up the "desk".
Stiles just grinned as he came around to Scott's side. "Scott, how long have you known me?"
"Too long, Stiles."
"And you haven't learned before now not to question the things I do?"
Scott shook his head as he turned on his laptop and plugged in the last of his cords. "I should know better."
"And now we can move on. Next on the agenda, is that guy dead?" Stiles asked, his face scrunching up as he pointed to the other bed in the room.
Scott shrugged. "He just came in and passed out. I guess that's my roomie. He didn't even say hi."
Stiles turned fully to his best friend. "He didn't say hi to you? How dare he! Next thing you know, he'll actually start using this as his room, too!" Stiles erupted into a fit of laughter, and walked over to Scott's bed, plopping down as it made an audible squeak.
"Not what I meant, Stiles," Scott said, shaking his head and sitting down beside Stiles. "He must be dead-tired. Poor guy, he'll miss orientation."
Stiles's jaw went slack and his eyes widened at Scott. "What time was that supposed to start?"
Scott reached onto the floor, in his bag, and grabbed the sheet of paper he had printed off before he left home. "Uh, it starts at noon. Why?"
Stiles groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Because we've missed it by thirty minutes."
Scott's eyes widened in the same fashion as Stiles's. "Shit." He shook his head and took a deep breath. "Want to try and see where everyone is?"
"No, that would require a lot of time and patience – both of which I don't have."
"You didn't take your Adderall today, did you?"
"That is a topic of which I will not touch, Scott!"
"Right. Well, did you at least get unpacked?" Scott leaned back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. Scott and Stiles had the same idea over the summer: growing out hair for college makes you look less like a high school miscreant, but Ms. McCall had the opposite idea. ("You need to look clean and put-together, not like you're homeless," she had said.)
Stiles sucked on his cheek for a moment before answering. "No. Jackson took up most of the room with his dumb, expensive stuff. I have a corner and my bed, Scott. One corner! I can't even fit my bags in said corner, man."
Scott frowned. "I wish we could have roomed together. This sucks. At least we're right across from each other, though. That's a plus definitely."
"You're right. I hope Isaac is having more fun than we are." Stiles picked at the sheets Scott had put on his bed an hour earlier and huffed. "God, we need to do something. I can't just sit here, everything is so quiet and Sleepy Head is snoring a bit."
Scott's ears perked a bit and he looked over at his roommate – whether he was dead or alive could have been debated if it had not been for the semi-loud snoring coming from that side of the room. The scruffy mountain-man, as Stiles was now calling him, had his mouth open and drool was pooling near his cheek.
"Okay, so now we should definitely get out of here. He's going to make a pool soon enough, and I don't want to be sliding in dog drool." Stiles shuddered and stood from the bed. "Come on, let's go look around or something."
"Stiles, I can't get into trouble before classes even start. Maybe once they start, but until then my mom will kill me."
Stiles gaped at his best friend. "Dude, that's a week! You expect me to be good and not wander around all day for a week?" His shoulders fell and one of his hands started patting his thigh in a quiet rhythm. "You're right. I need to just sit in my room and not do anything. That's the only way I'm not going to find myself in trouble."
Scott nodded. Stiles was right; the only way to keep Stiles Stilinski from getting into trouble was... well, there still wasn't a sure-fire way yet, but keeping him locked in a room was close enough – the Beacon Hills Police Department would vouch for that.
Stiles continued, "This isn't what I expected college was like. I sure didn't think my roommate was going to hate me before we even met. I'm going to be scared to close my eyes to sleep. Jackson is scary, he has those weirdly good looks and I feel like he comes from the richest parents ever. Those combined leads to someone not getting trialed as guilty in a court of law for homicide."
Scott laughed, shaking head, and leaned forward on his bed. "Stiles, Jackson isn't going to kill you. People would hear him."
"Great. Thanks, that really calms me, Scott." Stiles said, the sarcasm dripping heavily from each syllable.
†
As it turns out, Stiles and Scott made do with the small station Scott had set up for his video games. They had grabbed the controllers and decided to wait out the orientation. They would still be there for the big "gathering" tomorrow where everyone had to be and get put into groups with the same major as them.
"Honestly, though, how fun is it going to be meeting a bunch of people who just happen to be majoring in Sociology?" Stiles asked, letting his sarcasm show again. "Why don't they just let me meet people who are majoring in Sociology and getting their minor in Linguistics, because honestly that is the only way I think I'm going to meet someone I'll like. Even then, that's a long shot."
Scott groaned as he was killed in the game and waited for his character to be revived by Stiles before answering. "It's going to be great, Stiles. Maybe you'll meet someone who is a not-so-secret dork like yourself and you'll get a new best friend," Scott joked, but added hastily, "but you better not forget me, man. There is no way I'm going to find friends in people who are majoring in Media Studies! Those people look like they all want to be newscasters and journalists. I'm still not sure what I want to do, but this can't be good."
"Scott, your puppy eyes will make up for your lack of social skills. Just bat your eyelashes and everyone will be eating out of the palm of your hand. That's why I can't refuse you, those sad puppy eyes get to me and I can't sleep at night when I tell you no," Stiles laughed, his body jerking as he tried to not die in their game.
Scott laughed and shook his head. "No way. They're going to hate me, I know it."
Stiles paused their game and looked over at his best friend, his eyebrows furrowed. "Dude, we will be fine. I think." He nodded, more to assure himself everything would be fine than Scott. "Everyone will be begging to be your friend. Me? not so much, but if I can handle Jackson, I should be able to handle a few weirdos. I might even make friends with the weirdos!"
"That's because you're a weirdo."
Stiles tried to hide his grin as he punched Scott on the arm. "Thanks. You're a horrible friend."
"It's what I aim for, Stiles."
Stiles shook his head and he was about to laugh, but he heard a yawn from the other side of the room. Stiles turned around in the makeshift chair and raised an eyebrow to the boy who had begun stretching on his bed.
If looks could kill, the scowl on the boy's face would have exterminated cities by now. Stiles watched as the guy's shirt raised over his stomach as he stretched his arms upward – and what, who has abs like that? – and the muscles on his arms were flexing unnaturally. Stiles swallowed the spit that had been collecting in his mouth and made sure his jaw wasn't on the floor. He tried to turn away, but the mountain-man had stood from his bed and began searching through his bag.
"Crap! Stiles, you let us die, man!" Scott looked over at his friend and noticed his gaze was locked elsewhere. "I see," he mumbled under his breath.
"What, sorry. Sorry I died." Stiles had managed to half-look at Scott for a moment, but it was harder to turn his face completely to his best friend.
"We were on level 31, Stiles."
"We were? Sorry, Scott."
"I'm guessing orientation is well over then?" The mountain-man asked from the side of the room, sitting back on his bed. Stiles and Scott looked over at the voice, their eyes wide.
Stiles tried to not let his eyes move over the mountain-man's body as he answered, trying to look as if he wasn't appreciating it. "Yeah, it's been over for a while now."
The scruffy-jawed guy nodded, his eyebrows coming together. "You're not both my roommate's, are you? I'm not against guys sharing beds, but I would have liked to know before now so I could have bought earplugs."
Stiles blinked a few times and his jaw opened. "No! We're not – what? No, my room is across the hall but I have a douchebag for a roomie who only gave me a corner and I needed my best friend and – I'm just going to stop talking now." Stiles shook his head up and down and turned his face to the floor.
"Sorry, man, that's not it. I'm Scott, by the way, and this is Stiles," Scott grinned, nodding over at his best friend. He was trying so hard not to laugh at his best friend's verbal-vomit. He could tell Stiles was nervous, but that was normal Stiles around anyone that was even halfway attractive: case in point, Lydia Martin. He had crushed so hard on her all throughout school, but she never gave him the time of day. It was weird, though; he had always liked Lydia, but before going to Stanford after the summer, Stiles seemed to not even care if Lydia talked to him or not. In high school, Stiles would have fainted because she gave him her number, but the after-high-school Stiles just nodded and smiled at her when she wrote the number down a purple sticky note and placed it down in his hand. Fake it (in Stiles's case: confidence) 'till you make it, Scott guessed.
The mountain-man nodded and seemed to scowl less. "I'm Derek Hale. I'm going to the bathrooms, so don't steal my stuff, okay?" He stood from the bed, grabbing the bag he had been looking through earlier, and walked out the door.
Once he was out of range, Scott laughed. "Smooth, Stiles."
Stiles huffed out an irritated breath. "Don't laugh, I couldn't stop myself. I didn't see all of that muscle when he was sleeping, dude." Stiles shook his head. "I can't believe you get to room with the Greek god and I'm stuck with Jackson the Douchebag."
"Come on, Stiles. Jackson looks muscular, too."
Scott wasn't ready for the hard punch Stiles placed on his shoulder.
"I'm going back to my room where Jackson can kill me with his muscular arms then. Thanks, Scott." Stiles grinned from the door at his best friend and walked back out into the hallway. More people had appeared since they had come into the building, and it seemed as if everyone here really was a model. Stiles couldn't help but compare himself to them instantly. He shook his head and entered his dorm room, praying that Jackson was gone.
His prayers were answered as he opened the door to the room and found it empty. He sighed and walked over to the bed that he had made and grimaced at his bags thrown into a small corner. He hadn't even had a chance to put his clothes into the small closet before Jackson had begun throwing him cold looks earlier. The picture of him and his dad was on the nightstand he had placed beside the bed, and he picked the picture frame up, biting down on his cheek once again. He had already let his dad know he had arrived but he felt the need to call again. He knew his dad wouldn't go into work for another thirty minutes, so he had time.
The phone was picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Stiles. Missing your old dad already?" Sheriff Stilinski joked.
Stiles decided being honest was the best policy to implement at that moment. "Yeah, I am. I have a horrible roommate, dad. Remind me why I listened to Ms. McCall about not rooming with Scott."
His dad laughed on the line. "Because she is like your second mother, Stiles, and you know she would find you if you and Scott got into trouble."
Stiles nodded, placing the phone onto the other side of his face. "Right. That woman would be even more terrifying if she didn't have such puppy dog eyes like Scott." Stiles put the picture frame back down on his desk and sighed.
"You know your mother would be so proud of you, right? She wanted to you to do well for yourself, Stiles. You will, I know it. I used to worry that you would get into too much trouble, but your mom was always sure that you were going to be somebody great – and antics were part of what made you so great." Stiles heard his dad shift on the other end. His dad got uncomfortable talking about Stiles's mom, they both did. "You're going to do awesome, Stiles, don't let an asshole roommate make you hate college."
Stiles smiled to himself as he felt his eyes water the smallest amount. "I won't, and thanks for everything. Thanks for being an awesome dad."
His father chuckled and told his son he loved him before hanging up the phone so he could go to work.
Stiles looked around the room and decided he might as well irritate Jackson as much as possible. If just existing made Jackson angry, imagine what it would do to him if Stiles made the room as dirty as possible, taking up and cluttering every inch of space that Jackson was not using – which wasn't much, but Stiles would make it worth it.
