Stiles was mopey but attentive as Malia instructed him on the ins and outs of the program. Sitting in between rows of servers, the air-con on full blast, hunched over her sticker-covered laptop - Stiles had a lot of time to think over some life choices.

Despite Stiles' impressive ability to multi-task, Malia still managed to catch him slipping as he stared off into the middle distance.

"Hello?" She called, snapping her fingers in his face. "Earth to Stilinski?" She asks pointedly.

Stiles blinks rapidly and flashes her a befuddled grin. "Do you have a thing for older men?" He blurted out.

Malia's disinterested gaze flicked downward. "You're younger than me." She pointed out.

Stiles shook his head quickly. "No! Because I do!" He said quickly, his nerves over seeing his ex again ramping up his already-existing nerves over his still-new job. "Or - I guess I do, I mean," Stiles paused to think about it for a moment, "it's not because he was older, he just was older - and so beautiful - and like, organised." He continues earnestly, to Malia's wide and surprised expression. "He makes copies of his receipts, like for his taxes? I bet he's gonna claim my heart-break headphones on his taxes ..." Stiles huffs out a sigh, and realises he just venting to his sort-of boss and that she was looking at him like he's grown two heads.

She closes her eyes, and the lid of her laptop at the same time. "Okay ..." she said calmly, and then swivelled her head to stare straight at Stiles with a wide grin. "Tell me everything."

"He said I'm immature!" Stiles continues, flailing his arms around and spitting out a quick apology when he hits the metal side of a server, which doesn't respond. "Me, and I never even wore sweatpants around him! Because I didn't want him to think I was a slob - he wore sweatpants plenty of times! And they still make his butt look fantastic!" Stiles concludes, begrudgingly unable to lie and pretend Derek had a sad, flat ass.

Malia had been a very attentive listener, nodding wisely as Stiles ranted. "I see ..." she hummed aloud, tapping her chin for added effect, before slowly nodding, "date his co-worker." She said.

Stiles flinched, and frowned in distaste. "I don't think ... I want to." Stiles had been in the lobby plenty of times, and the people Derek would wave and say a quick good-bye to were not ... at all interesting, to put it one way.

Malia grunted. "Date his dad."

"Oof - he's passed away." Stiles muttered.

"Older brother?" She shot back.

Stiles shook his head, wondering in the back of his mind about this family-thing she was going down. "Doesn't have one."

"Best friend?"

Stiles points in opposite directions and then meets his pointer fingers in the middle. "They're dating each other."

"Three-way."

Stiles' heart sank at all the terrible, no-good ideas. "This isn't going in a direction that I like." He admits sadly.

Malia snapped her fingers, and flipped up her laptop screen again, turning her attention towards it instead of their demented, failed brain-storming session. "We can key his car on the way out?" She suggests lightly.

Stiles gasps. "No, that would be sacrilege." He insists, actually feeling his pits start to sweat at the idea of anything harming that gorgeous machine.

Malia snorts out a laugh. "I don't think a Catholic would say that." She says, tapping the front of her laptop, where a sticker of St Agatha was plastered in the middle, and something that Stiles had immediately recognised and pointed out to Malia at their first meeting - turns out she hadn't known herself, she just liked tits.

Stiles pressed a hand against his heart. "How dare you - I am a genuine lapsed Polish Catholic, born and baptised." He muttered,but settled next to her as she went on to explain the next part of the trouble-shooting lesson they had been up to.
He felt so much better being able to talk to about it though - he had been too embarrassed to tell Scott, yet, what with his lovey-dovey vibes choking up their shared living space. Obviously, Scott had noticed by now something was up - but Stiles had managed to blame it on new-job jitters and his descent into capitalism. The excuse wouldn't hold out forever, but somehow, telling Scott would make it too real, and he refused to break down crying about it.

They were making their way out of the office - it had taken a bit longer than expected, and they had shown up in the very late afternoon. Now, it was past 5, and Stiles was relieved that everyone would have cleared out by now.

They had reached the door to the parking garage as "Stiles - wait!"

Except - it seemed - the new (and youngest) accounting head.

Malia's face radiated 'yikes', her mouth pulled flat and down on both directions, baring her lower row of teeth. But Stiles only shrugs slightly as he obligingly stopped, but refused to dwell on the hope rising in his chest.

He turns as Derek jogs up to them. Immediately, Stiles notices a few things - his hair is flatter than usual at the top, while the sides stick out strangely. Stiles knew from a very dangerous game of monopoly that meant Derek had repeatedly run his hands through his hair and ruined his careful morning styling. He also had his jacket on only by one arm, while the other he attempted to shrug into now. "Hey - um, I was hoping to catch you as I left, too ..." he explains breathlessly, while finally pulling on his jacket, "the-the headphones ... do you like them?" He asks hurriedly.

Stiles felt a flicker of hurt at Derek bringing those up right now. "Sure," Stiles says drily; thinking about the unopened box that he stuffed into the back of closet, "they really give an all-surround sound of my favourite song - the teletubbies theme." He adds, and then frowns. "Why? Did you want them back?"

Derek quickly shook his head. "No, no ..." he glances at Malia, and then clears his throat, coughing into his fist and taking a step back. "I won't keep you. Have a good night." He says, rising a hand in a weird wave, as though he was asking for a hi-5 as he holds it for a second too long, which was very much not like him.

"You too." Stiles tells him as he turned around and starting walking again with Malia in tow. Stiles could't hear the click of pricey loafers on the marble, and muttered to Malia, as quietly as he was able; "Please, please, tell me he's still watching."

Malia huffs out a laugh, and starts swinging her hips. "Strut, boy - all eyes on you." She hisses back gleefully.

Stiles doesn't let himself strut, but he definitely walks with the confidence of a man with a growing suspicion that loosing him could be someone's regret.