Somehow, that easily, Derek found that Stiles — and to a lesser extent Scott — had suddenly become part of his life.
Before Derek left the coffee shop that evening Stiles had grabbed his phone, turning on a voice-over option that Derek hadn't even realized existed and then tapping away for a few more minutes so rapidly that Derek couldn't even follow what he was doing. By the time Stiles handed the phone back Derek had a new contact programmed in under the name "Stiles is Awesome!", complete with an off-center selfie.
"Hope you don't pay for texts, man," Stiles had said with a smirk.
The sound of the arriving text startled the hell out of Derek, he was so unused to receiving them.
The guy on the subway next to me smells like cabbage, Stiles had texted. Who even eats cabbage these days?
Derek stared at the text for awhile, as if hoping to decode some secret hidden message in it.
Just wait, he finally texted back laboriously, his thumbs clumsy on the little virtual keyboard. Mrs. Christakos in 402 makes stuffed cabbage rolls every Christmas. The hallway smells like cabbage until New Year's.
Damn, Stiles texted back. Better book my flight home now.
I'm so booooored, Stiles texted Derek randomly in the middle of the work day. Entertain me.
Derek stared at the text, wondering what in the hell he could do to entertain someone like Stiles.
Iron Man or Spider-Man? he finally texted in reply.
He had to turn his phone to silent as the series of texts came through, one on the heels of the other, for the next forty-five minutes.
"C'mon, Derek!" Stiles knocked for the third time in a row on Derek's door, making Derek roll his eyes as he shoved his feet into his shoes. "Sexile Coffee Club!" Stiles whispered theatrically through the door.
Derek yanked the door open, slinging his messenger bag across his chest. "We are not calling it that."
"We 100% are calling it that," Stiles responded happily. "Unless you think of something better. Brownie Buddies? Shmoop Refugees? Oh — I've got it! Scallison Sexiles!"
"What the hell is 'Scallison'?"
"It's a portmanteau! You know, Scott plus Allison equals Scallison! It's either that or...Allott?"
Derek deliberately bumped Stiles' shoulder with his as they walked. "No more caffeine for you."
"I can't believe neither of you two have ever seen 'Ghostbusters'!" Stiles exclaimed, running his fingers over the spines of his DVD collection, checking a few of the Braille labels before finding the right one. He loaded it into the DVD player before making his way to the couch, unrepentantly running his fingers over their shoulders and the back of the couch to check their positions before squeezing in between Scott and Derek. "Did you just completely waste your childhoods, or what?"
"There's more to life than 80's movies, Stiles," Scott grinned, nudging Stiles' thigh with the bowl of popcorn as Stiles hit "play" on the remote.
"There may be more, but nothing better, Scotty." Stiles grabbed a handful of popcorn, shoving most of it into his mouth at once. He tilted the bowl in Derek's direction.
"No thanks," Derek mumbled, distracted by the warmth of Stiles' body, pressed against his from shoulder to knee. With every breath he inhaled Stiles' own warm scent, mixed with a bit of salty buttery scent from the popcorn. This was as close as he had been to another person since Laura had died. Derek would have expected to feel uncomfortable, like when people got too close to him on the subway, but instead it was...comforting.
Stiles was bopping along to the theme song. There might even have been a whisper of jazz hands during several of the "Ghostbusters!" choruses. As the movie continued, though, he settled in with his feet up on the coffee table, his body a line of heat all against Derek's side. At one point he slung his arm along the back of the sofa, behind Derek's shoulders. "Back off man, I'm a scientist," he said in synchrony with the character on the screen, squeezing Derek's shoulders in glee.
Derek let his head rest back, enjoying the warmth of Stiles' arm at the back of his neck. He remembered sitting on the couch, watching movies with his family, while the kids gorged themselves on popcorn and ice cream. With so many family members of varying ages and tastes, sometimes the argument over what to watch would last almost as long as the movie itself. Derek always sat on the end of the couch and his dad would sometimes reach out, cupping the back of Derek's neck, scent-marking him almost absent-mindedly as they watched.
The movie was entertaining but Derek was only half paying attention, his focus wandering to Stiles' soft huffs of laughter, the steady thump of his heartbeat. "This was my favorite part as a kid." Stiles leaned in, whispering in Derek's ear as a blob of green slime on the screen raced toward Bill Murray.
Scott snorted in laughter but Derek was distracted, watching Stiles. He was laughing also, his head thrown back to expose the long line of his throat, his pink mouth curved in amusement. The constellation of moles on his cheek stood out stark against his creamy skin, and Derek fought the urge to nuzzle closer, to feel the texture of his skin. He felt himself leaning closer, against his will.
"Ha!" Stiles laughed again, his hand slapping Derek's thigh, his long fingers pale against Derek's dark jeans. Derek startled, suddenly feeling eyes on him. He jerked his head up to find Scott pointedly looking back towards the screen, smiling to himself as he shoved another handful of popcorn in his mouth.
The Sheriff didn't even have to look, batting Stiles' hands aside as he reached for a beer.
"C'mon, Dad!" Stiles complained, although resignation was clear in his voice. "It's just a few weeks now!"
"And when you come to visit at Christmas I'll buy you a beer myself," the sheriff responded, unperturbed.
"Aargh!" Stiles shoved his dad, both of them smiling now.
"I thought —" Derek started, before realizing he might be getting Stiles into trouble. He stopped, awkwardly taking a sip of the beer he had been frankly too intimidated to turn down when the sheriff offered it to him.
"I'm not twenty-one until September," Stiles clarified, sticking out his tongue in his dad's direction as he grabbed a bottle of water instead.
"He skipped a year in middle school," the sheriff added proudly. "Of course," he continued with a mischievous glint in his eye, "That may have had a lot to do with Miss Lydia Martin also being advanced a grade…"
"Dad!" Stiles protested, his cheeks flushing pink.
"What?" The sheriff's pose of innocence was transparent. "I can't be proud that my son's a genius?"
Stiles grumbled something inaudible into his bottle of water. Derek watched in fascination as the flush spread up to cover the tips of his ears.
"So, Derek," the sheriff said, startling Derek back to awareness.
The sheriff's pale blue eyes were assessing in a way that made Derek feel that the man could see down to his very bones. "I understand that you helped Stiles find this place."
"I just...I heard Scott saying he needed a roommate, and I didn't think the place across the street looked very safe."
The sheriff's gaze softened. "Well, I appreciate you looking out for my boy. And being willing to have him living next to you. He can be a lot to handle."
"Hey!" Stiles protested. "I'm right here."
The sheriff's gaze stayed steady on Derek's face. "I'm talking to Derek, son."
"I — " Derek concentrated hard on not ducking his head or shuffling his feet. "I don't mind, sir," he ended up mumbling.
"Good." The sheriff was smiling now. "Call me John."
"Yes, sir. Um, John," Derek said, making Stiles snort water inelegantly out his nose.
"Gross!" Scott said, his voice tinged with admiration.
Stiles was mopping his face off with his shirtsleeve. "Hey, if I snarfed over the nachos, does that mean I get to eat them all?" he asked hopefully.
"Hey pretty boys," Erica purred.
As usual, the diner was empty except for Erica and Boyd. Scott, Stiles, and Derek had developed a habit of coming in on Wednesday nights before Scott went on shift, hitting that sweet spot between the dinner crowd and the post-party drunks getting their fix of greasy foods.
Boyd always worked the afternoon and evening shift because he was taking classes during the day, getting his degree in engineering. Erica claimed she worked the same shift for better tips, but with the glances she cast at Boyd when he wasn't looking Derek suspected she had other reasons.
Erica rattled off the specials, taking down their orders as usual. She clipped the order slip above the grill for Boyd, and then wandered back in their direction. If it wasn't Erica Derek would have said that she almost looked shy.
Stiles seemed to hear the click of her heels, his head tilting in her direction. "Erica?"
And she was shy, her voice tentative. "I figured it out, I think."
"Really?" Stiles smiled, bright and wide. "Well c'mon! I can't wait!"
"It's in the back. I'll go get it." Derek and Scott watched in puzzlement as Erica raced toward the back, returning with what looked like a piece of red fabric in her hand. "It's just a first try," she said a little hesitantly. "But I think it came out pretty good."
Stiles was already pushing the place settings toward the wall. "Gimme," he said, and she put the piece of cloth in his hands.
Stiles spread it out on the table, and now Derek could see it was a t-shirt. It looked similar to the graphic t-shirts that Stiles wore often, although the design was a little more intricate, looking almost like an ink sketch.
Stiles was already running his fingers over it. "I can totally feel it!" he exclaimed. Derek leaned in closer, and he could see now that the lines of printed ink were raised off the surface of the shirt.
Erica was smiling now too, her eyes shining happily. "I tried the high density screenprinting at first, but you could barely feel it, or at least I could barely feel it. So I tried out this puff additive, it puffs up the ink as it cures. Cool, huh?"
"So cool!" Stiles agreed. "It's your Catwoman, right?" His long fingers were tracing up the tail, and then skimming down the length of the whip.
"Uh huh."
Derek looked down at the t-shirt. The design really was beautiful, both detailed and fluid, Catwoman's pose fierce but not overly sexualized.
"You drew this?" Scott asked in amazement, echoing Derek's thoughts.
"Erica's internet-famous," Stiles bragged. "She sells her designs online — not just t-shirts but prints and tote bags and everything. She even has a table at New York ComicCon every year, and let me tell you those suckers are hard to get."
"I think I might start adding the raised printing as an option," Erica said, her fingertips running over the raised ink lines thoughtfully. "I mean, it'll be a little harder since I'll have to do the printing and shipping myself, but I think people will really dig the look, you know? It's — unique."
"No," Derek said before thinking. He ignored Stiles kicking him under the table, hurrying to clarify. "I mean, you could have them as a ComicCon exclusive. That way — you wouldn't have to deal with all the mailing hassle, and I bet people would get into bidding wars over them and that kind of thing."
They were all staring at him. Even Boyd had stepped out from behind the grill and was looking at Derek. "What — is that stupid?" Derek asked.
Stiles' foot was now running up and down Derek's calf where he had kicked him, as if in apology. "Nah, man, that's genius!" He nudged Derek's shoulder with his. "It was just, like, a lot of words all at once from someone who never talks. You gotta give us time to acclimate, a little — you know, ease us in at the shallow end."
"I talk," Derek complained into his water, disgruntled, but Stiles was already focused back on Erica.
"I think I'm gonna need one of each of your designs, you know. Erica Reyes exclusives!"
If Derek wasn't so sure that Erica was head-over-heels for Boyd, he would be growling a little at the look of adoration she was sending Stiles.
"Check this out," she said. "This was just for you." She flipped up the bottom of the shirt, guiding Stiles' hand to the inside of the front hem.
Stiles' brow furrowed in concentration, and then suddenly cleared as a smile broke across his face. "Red!" he said, pushing the shirt more to the center of the table so that the others could see the series of raised ink dots.
Erica seemed to be glowing with pride. "I found a Braille translator online. I thought that if you did want more shirts, I could label the colors for you. To help you match, that kind of thing."
Stiles made a strangled sort of noise and reached out, pulling Erica into an awkward hug given that he was still sitting in the booth and she was standing by his side. He ended up with his arm around her hips and his face smushed a bit into her apron strings, but neither of them seemed to mind.
"Order's up," Boyd called out.
Stiles released Erica. "I'm gonna wear it right now," he said, and he was already pulling his t-shirt off, unselfconsciously revealing a taut, flat belly with an intriguing trail of dark brown hair leading down into the waistband of his pants, a toned chest, those surprisingly wide shoulders with a sprinkling of moles scattered along the crest of them…
"Order's up," Boyd repeated, a little more forcefully.
Derek and Erica both startled, Derek looking away while Erica sauntered over to pick up their orders with a secretive grin. Derek refused to meet Scott's eyes, studiously arranging the silverware back into place as Stiles pulled on the new shirt, smoothing it down over his chest.
"How does it look?" he asked Erica as she returned with the food.
Her smile was wide and genuine, making her suddenly look much younger. "It looks great."
Derek couldn't get over the change in her. Her usual brazen, predatory demeanor had completely disappeared. The woman underneath was nothing that he would have ever expected — shy, artistic, passionate. Derek had the feeling that he could have come to this diner every week for years and never even caught a glimpse of that person, and yet something about Stiles had drawn her out in just a few weeks.
Derek remembered the very first evening he had spent with Stiles.
I think people in this city get kind of a shell, Derek had told Stiles. But — underneath, they're still people, just like any place else. It might just take a little time.
Derek looked at Stiles again, his gaze drawn to him as if magnetically attracted. Stiles was attempting to steal curly fries off of Scott's plate even though he had a plateful himself, and Scott was flicking his hand.
In just a few weeks Stiles had somehow managed to become as close as a brother to Scott, to reveal the Erica that was hiding behind her brassy bombshell facade — even to draw out Boyd's dry sense of humor. And Derek — Derek wasn't entirely sure what Stiles was doing to him. Making him feel things he thought were long-dead, drawing him into the little family that Stiles seemed to be creating effortlessly. Giving Derek kindness and affection that he hadn't felt since his family had died. And Stiles seemed to be doing it for no particular reason, it seemed, except that he could. It was wonderful and terrifying in almost equal proportions.
"You okay there, big guy?" Stiles shifted a fraction closer, leaning his weight into Derek for a moment before taking another bite of his cheeseburger.
"Yeah," Derek said, allowing himself to lean back in return, a jolt of warmth running through him where their hips and shoulders pressed together for a moment, drinking in Stiles' smile in response. "I'm good."