This took me so long, omg. I was too busy figuring out what everyone would wear lmaooo (if you're curious, you can see their outfits on my Tumblr: the-nerdnextdoor! Hope the fluff is alright in this chapter.. let me know what you think x
Step Twenty-Two: V is for Virtual Annihilation
"-with a freakin' shovel, dude. I'm gonna kill you so hard."
Derek pauses in the doorway of Deaton's, his head swivelling towards the source of the aggressive muttering. It's not a surprise, for obvious reasons, to find Stiles hunched over a laptop at a table, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth twisted hatefully from what Derek can see of his face side-on. There's an unfamiliar young woman sitting with him, her seat moved closer to his so she can also lean into the laptop. She's watching whatever he's doing with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, and she bares her teeth, glancing down at Stiles' fingers on the keyboard as if she wants to take over.
Derek can feel the question on the tip of his tongue, and he even inhales the breath required to ask the question, but he blinks and frowns and swallows the words, turning his attention to the counter. It's been a couple of weeks since he got in a fight over Stiles like some smitten high-schooler, and the barista is yet to go back to treating Derek the way he used to. Maybe he never will; maybe they're doomed to this unnecessary and unexplained awkwardness forever. Derek isn't quite sure where he went wrong.
Liam starts to make the coffees and paninis and Derek moves up to the till, where Isaac stands waiting for him.
"Hey, man," the barista greets boredly.
"What's goin' on?" Derek responds, handing the money over.
"Well, the tiny ball of fury is settling in nicely but he follows me around whenever Scott's not in, Scott is turning into some kind of wise, responsible asshole to try and be a good mentor, Stiles is back on his bullshit, Erica's-"
"What? What do you mean?" Derek scowls, his voice quiet but sharp.
Isaac gives him a look, but Derek just glares. "Ugh, fine. He's back to that dumb plan of his."
"Idiot," Derek hisses, throwing a glare down the counter towards the young man in question. "Even after what happened?"
"Wait! I know about this!" Liam announces, suddenly appearing at Isaac's elbow. His eyebrows are lifted into his hairline, eyes bright and wide, and his mouth is tilted in a half-grin. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him to encourage an elaboration. "Scott said that you might not be happy about it and that Stiles might not explain himself because he's doing that stupid thing where he's trying not to talk to you and-"
"Liam, get to the point or you're fired," Isaac intones.
Liam frowns up at him for a moment, his cheeks flushing a faint red. "It's Step Twenty-Two: V is for Virtual Annihilation," he recites.
"What the hell does that mean?" Derek grunts.
"It means he's playing some game with Aiden where they battle each other, or something. Scott said Stiles had to rethink the last few steps of the plan because Deaton got them into a lot of trouble for causing a fight. So, he's playing video games instead."
Derek frowns at the back of Stiles' head, considering this information. "Who's that with him?"
"Oh, that's Malia," Isaac answers. "She's a cold-blooded killer. Stiles needed someone to match his hateful energy so he recruited her a while back. She's the only one as viciously invested in this as him."
Derek watches the two of them closely, trying to spot any signs of a relationship other than friends. "They're perfect for each other, then," he says evenly, watching for Isaac's reaction.
The barista scoffs. "It's like a tornado and a tsunami clashing. It's chaotic and horrifying. If they spent more time together than their weekly hangouts, I'm pretty sure they'd destroy the entire world and each other with it. I wouldn't quite call them soulmates."
Derek nods, satisfied. "As long as they're not provoking Jackson again."
"He's under strict orders not to," Liam grins when he delivers the coffees and paninis.
Derek nearly frowns at the younger guy, his relentless sunshine-smile and blue-sky-eyes proving almost unbearable. He sticks his change in the tip jar, thanks the two baristas, and heads to the door. He feels a strange sense of curiosity and confidence, fuelled solely by Liam's comment about Stiles trying not to talk to Derek (as if he wants to talk or can't help but talk), and he finds himself throwing a glance to Stiles as he walks past.
"See you later, Stiles."
Stiles' eyes nearly bug out of his head when his head snaps round from the laptop to look at Derek. "What? Oh, uh, hey, man," he splutters stupidly, eyes darting up and down Derek's body to take him in. "Yeah, no, uh, see you later. Yeah. Sure. Later. I'll see-"
Malia slaps the back of his head, shouting about him being an idiot and letting his character die, but Stiles can only glance at her for a millisecond before looking back at Derek. (And if Derek climbs into his car with a smug smirk plastered across his face, well, nobody needs to know that.)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Derek inhales deeply and rolls his shoulders back, his fingers gently grasping the stem of his champagne glass. His other hand is tucked neatly into the pocket of his suit trousers, hidden away where no one can see his fingers picking at each other. He's never been comfortable at events. He's even less comfortable at this event, but he attends it every year, no matter what.
There's a respectable crowd gathered in the hall. Groups have filtered off to mingle amongst themselves at this stage in the night, meandering the space leisurely while they chat. Derek recognises a few of the faces from previous years, and some staff who he'll need to make sure and talk to before the night's done, but he's never really been one to actually socialise at these events and spend longer than a couple of hours there - he's usually back in his sweats in his apartment by the time the night begins to draw to an end for everyone else. He feels a little better this year, with Boyd standing next to him, especially since he doubts the young man will protest leaving early.
But he does feel a little guilty. Derek's wearing his charcoal-grey, three-piece suit, a white shirt, and a black tie, relatively comfortable in the outfit since it's the one he's worn the last three years in a row. Boyd, to his credit, looks the most suave Derek has ever seen him, in his crimson suit with a white shirt buttoned up to the collar, and a pale-red pocket square tucked into his jacket pocket, elegantly patterned in white - he decided against a tie, but the outfit is so sleek and fashionable that it doesn't need one. However, even if Boyd looks like he's walked off a photoshoot for some fancy clothing line, Derek still feels guilty.
"You didn't have to come," he says (and so what if it isn't the first time he's said it tonight?).
Boyd finishes taking a sip from his own champagne glass, his eyes still wandering around the hall and the artwork on display. "Do you remember when I told you I was planning on coming tonight and you didn't even realise I knew it was happening?" he replies.
Derek's mouth flattens into a line, giving Boyd a faintly-irritated look when the young man meets his eyes.
Boyd smirks at him - and there's definitely something Erica in it. "It's a good cause, Derek. I'm not only here for you."
"Yes, Derek, perhaps it's time you took that ego of yours down a notch."
Derek doesn't even have time to roll his eyes or send an apologetic look to Boyd before his uncle twists around Derek's shoulder, head cocked and mouth twisted in an I'm-being-intolerable-and-I-love-it smirk. He pinches the champagne glass from Derek's fingers and sets it down on the tray of a passing waiter, replacing it with a tumbler of whiskey.
"Don't give me that look - we both know you won't survive the night without something stiffer than that bubbly monstrosity."
Derek exhales sharply. "I wasn't sure you were coming," he says, refusing to insist that he had actually been enjoying his champagne, because Peter has a talent of debating someone in a way that belittles them any chance he can get, and Derek does not have the patience for it.
Peter hums and lifts his chin as he sweeps his gaze across the room, tucking a hand into his suit trousers. This year, he's in an emerald suit jacket and trousers, and a white shirt with the top three buttons undone. His beard is trimmed neatly down to his jaw and his hair has been carefully and fashionably coiffed - always the one to preen himself religiously and flaunt the results proudly.
"I was curious to see what kind of donations came in this year," he muses.
Derek does roll his eyes at that. Because Peter - in one of the rare acts of genuine philanthropy he commits - has never once missed gifting a ridiculously-generous, anonymous donation to Satomi's orphanage. He has done it every year since he recovered from his coma and was well enough to take Derek and his sisters into his own care, as a sign of gratitude to Satomi. That and supporting his nieces and nephew's lives and careers are the few redeeming qualities Peter has.
"Boyd, this is my uncle Peter," Derek introduces, making sure to give Boyd an expression that reveals his disdain. "Peter, this is Boyd."
Peter sniffs haughtily and redirects his attention to the two of them, plastering a charming smile across his face when he reaches out to shake Boyd's hand. "A pleasure," he assures. "And I suppose I should thank you for keeping my recluse of a nephew company in that stale store of his."
Boyd merely quirks an eyebrow in response, shaking the man's hand.
"It's not stale," Derek bites out, infuriated that Peter always manages to annoy him into rising to the bait.
Peter's face twists with feigned contemplation, cocking his head at Derek. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was no longer named Books. Tell me, what name have you deemed fit to convey the essence of the store - which, I presume, is something other than stale - now?"
Derek grits his teeth silently, casting his angry glare across the hall to an unsuspecting piece of art.
"It's minimalistic and honest," Boyd shrugs next to him. "It suits Derek."
"Oh, lord," Peter mutters dramatically, rolling his eyes. "You two must be just a barrel of laughs in that place. You'll have to excuse me while I attempt to find some company with a more cultivated vocabulary and an actual personality."
When he stalks off, Derek takes a sip of whiskey, his lip twitching at the taste of it. He doesn't even like whiskey that much (even if Peter's right that he usually does need something stiffer than champagne to stomach the socialising at this event).
"How many times a year do you have to see him?" Boyd asks quietly, watching Peter walk away.
"Too often," Derek grunts.
Boyd throws him another smirk. The two of them take a step backwards when a group of chatting couples squeeze by them, Derek nodding at them when they give him a brief smile of recognition. He notices Boyd lift his wrist and pull his sleeve back with a finger to check his watch.
"You don't need to stay all night," Derek reassures him, gesturing his glass towards Boyd's wrist. "I usually leave before hour-three hits, anyway."
The corner of Boyd's mouth pulls into his cheek when he shakes his head. "It's not that," he replies. Then he lifts his near-empty glass into view. "You want anything from the bar?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
Derek watches Boyd walk for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly while he wonders why exactly Boyd's here. He'd never once mentioned the event to Boyd before and had therefore given no indication that he'd be more comfortable having someone like Boyd there with him, but it feels like Boyd has come for Derek. He doubts Brett or Lori managed or wanted to tell Boyd that Derek always looked uncomfortable or was always alone at the yearly event, and nobody else would have any reason to speak to Boyd about it, so Derek has no clue where Boyd even got the idea to come here for his sake from. Unless Boyd just put two and two together and figured by himself that Derek would silently appreciate the company (which, he supposes, isn't such a far-fetched notion).
He's tilting another sip of whiskey into his mouth when he hears a familiar voice behind him.
"Hey, Derek. Lookin' sharp."
Derek's eyebrows furrow when he turns around and finds Theo walking up to him. The young man is in a loose, white shirt with a pattern of grey leaves, rolled up to his elbows with the top three- no, four buttons undone and exposing a slab of firm, tanned skin. His dark dress pants are rolled at the ankles above a pair of smart, brown shoes, and his beard has been shaved down to a neat, dark stubble. The grin he throws up at Derek is smug, but covering an uneasiness that Derek relates to.
"What? Truckers aren't allowed to be stylish?" Theo teases.
Derek allows a smirk of his own in response. "I'm just surprised to see you here."
Theo tucks his hands into his pockets and shrugs, looking around the hall. "Boyd told me about it last week and I had the night off, so. Figured a bit of socialising couldn't hurt."
"You'd be surprised," Derek intones, catching sight of his uncle across the hall mingling expertly with other well-off citizens.
"So, uh, what exactly is the situation, anyway?" Theo asks, nodding at a piece of artwork nearby.
Derek looks over at it, even though he's hidden his gaze in the canvas more times than he can count this evening. The painting is fairly simple, in terms of the subject - a pink sunset over the silhouette of some buildings - but the little card to the right of the canvas adds meaning.
"Satomi encourages the kids to express themselves creatively," Derek explains. "Most of them paint."
Theo steps closer to the canvas to read the card next to it. "This girl painted this the night she found out she was getting fostered for the first time," he realises. He takes another step back and cocks his head, regarding the painting silently.
Derek follows his gaze, his fingers picking at each other in his pocket. He can see the warmth, the hope and excitement, in the pinks and subtle oranges of the sunset; but he can also see the tragedy and loneliness in the dark purples and blues of the buildings. There's a lingering ache in his bones, his soul, that always pulses deep and harrowed at this event, and this year is no different.
"This is really good," Theo says quietly. "There's a lot of good artwork here, actually. Does anyone ever buy any?"
Derek shrugs a shoulder. "Sometimes. A lot of the kids like to keep them, though."
Theo nods distractedly and moves away to look at the next canvas along, but Derek stays where he is, taking in a deep, quiet breath and trying not to clench his jaw. He lifts his glass to take another drink, sending a somewhat-petulant glance at Peter and the man's ability to read Derek. He almost wishes Stiles were here - at least the barista could ramble on about steps and justice and distract Derek from the bitter taste of loss on his tongue.
"Oh, damn, wait- are we seriously-underdressed? I think we're underdressed. Maybe we should go back and change into-"
"Shut up, Stiles. It's not our fault you chose to dress like you have no personality. The rest of us look incredible and it'd be a waste to leave, so we're staying."
Derek's face has gone slack (and part of him wonders if he somehow summoned this). He turns his head to look over his shoulder towards the entrance, his eyes dancing over the group of people stopped just inside. At the front, standing arm-in-arm, are Lydia and Danny. Lydia's in a black-and-white patterned dress with mid-length, loose sleeves, a black collar, and a black strip around the waist. She stands in a pair of baby-blue heels and carries a black clutch, her hip cocked as she surveys the hall. Danny is in a red, velvet suit jacket with a dark, floral-patterned shirt underneath and a set of dark dress pants and shoes. The two of them seem to simultaneously spot the bar and share a cheeky smile before sauntering off towards it. Isaac, dressed in a white t-shirt with an off-white, subtly-patterned blazer and a pair of skinny jeans, offers his hand to Allison, who is wearing a sleeveless, white dress and green (Derek isn't sure about that colour, if he's honest) heels, and the two of them follow after Danny and Lydia.
Derek's eyes travel across Liam next, the younger guy dressed in a dark-grey, chequered shirt, black skinny jeans, and black dress shoes. At his side is Scott, grinning brightly in a dark-blue suit jacket and trousers, with a black shirt dotted by white and unbuttoned at the collar. The young woman next to Scott is wearing a sleeveless jumpsuit, almost the same colour as Scott's suit, with long trousers and a neckline that plunges to the top of her stomach - Derek recognises the small scowl she sends Liam when he says something quietly and identifies her as Malia, the woman he saw earlier in Deaton's.
Behind the three of them is Erica, wearing a sleeveless, black dress and black heels with intricate straps, and Kira, who is wearing a matching set of long, white trousers and a crop top with thin stripes, covered by a long, white coat. And, flanked between the two young women, wearing a deep-navy suit jacket and trousers with a pale-blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar, is Stiles. His stubble is neatly trimmed around his mouth and along his jaw, and his hair looks soft and fluffy, coiffed back away from his face without a hint of product (as in, devoid of the awful gel that stuck his hair up in a myriad of directions back when Derek first met him).
"Friends of yours?" Theo's voice snaps Derek's attention away from the group, his head swivelling back around to look at the truck driver. "Boyd said there'd be more people." His eyebrows twitch inwards subtly, and Derek suddenly realises the main reason behind Theo's uneasiness.
Clearly, Boyd invited both Theo and the employees and associates of Deaton's, and Derek's most likely the only person who was not warned. (He'll figure out whether he's annoyed about that later, when he manages to pry his brain away from the image of Stiles' neck in the unbuttoned collar of a shirt.)
"I didn't know they were coming," Derek finds himself saying.
"Well, they're coming over now."
He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back before he twists his body to face the group side-on. Most of them have peeled off to visit the bar, but Scott is walking over with a happy smile, Liam at his elbow and Stiles trailing behind.
"Hey, Derek," Scott greets cheerfully. "You look good, man."
Derek blinks. "You too," he responds a little awkwardly. "Uh, this is Theo. Theo this-"
"Wait," Theo says quickly, stepping closer, frowning. "Scott?"
Scott blinks, his face slackening in shock for a brief moment before an amazed grin lights it up again. "Theo Raeken? Dude, seriously?" he laughs. Their hands clap together as they pull each other in for a shoulder-bump, slapping each other's backs enthusiastically. "Oh my god, man, it's been years!"
"I haven't seen you since the fourth grade," Theo replies, his face twisted with amused disbelief as he steps back next to Derek again.
"I know!" Scott laughs delightedly. He turns to look at his side, slapping a hand out. "Stiles, dude, it's Theo!"
Stiles clears his throat and Derek finally lets himself look over at the barista, watching his thin fingers reach up to tug at the collar of his shirt, his face the picture of confusion. "Uh, what, sorry?" he frowns. Then his eyes widen and he throws his hands out in shock, gaping at Theo. "Dude, oh my god," he splutters. He laughs a little distractedly when Theo steps forward to greet him the same way he did Scott. "Wow, you look good, man. How long's it been?"
"Since fourth grade," Theo repeats, his eyebrows twisting subtly in amusement. "I had no idea you guys were still in town."
"Oh, we'll never leave," Stiles scoffs, pulling at the cuffs of his jacket with a lopsided smirk. "Beacon Hills would burn to the ground without us."
"Pretty sure the opposite's the truth," Derek can't help but contest.
Scott laughs while Stiles pouts petulantly. "What are you up to, man?"
"Uh, I'm actually a truck driver," Theo replies, a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not very glamorous."
"Wait, so you just, like, go on road trips for a living?" Liam asks, his eyes all bright and his mouth curling with the promise of a grin.
Derek watches Theo blink, staring at the younger guy. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way."
"That's awesome, man," Liam beams. "You drive one of those big trucks?"
Theo's mouth twitches into his cheek. "Not the big-big ones."
"Okay, good. They freak me out a little."
Theo's laugh bursts out of him as if he didn't expect it. "Why?"
Derek doesn't think he's ever seen Theo so emotive.
"I dunno, they're just huge and scary. I mean, if you get hit by that, you're done for. You're a pancake."
"Well, everything's huge to you, little guy," Stiles winces.
Liam throws him a quick scowl, his cheeks reddening.
Scott grins good-naturedly and throws an arm over Liam's shoulder. "This is Liam. Liam, this is Theo."
Theo's smile softens as he reaches out to shake Liam's hand. "Good to meet you, Liam."
"Thanks. Uh, you too," Liam smiles nervously.
Derek quirks an eyebrow and catches Stiles' eyes, watching the barista's mouth pinch in an attempt not to smile.
"So, what are you guys up to?" Theo asks.
"We work at a coffee shop," Scott answers. "Deaton's Dream Beans."
Theo glances at Derek warily. "That's a joke, right?"
Derek can practically feel the change in energy from Stiles, and he removes his free hand from his pocket to hold it out placatingly in front of the barista. "Don't start a fight, Stiles. You know it's a weird name."
Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and pushes his shoulders back, muttering under his breath.
"Oh, I think the guys are being served. I'm gonna go get a drink," Scott says, already turning to walk away. Liam blinks and moves to follow him, sending a glance at Theo.
"I could do with a drink," Theo shrugs, following as well.
Stiles seems to realise at the last minute that he is now alone with Derek. "Oh, are they, uh- okay. Alright. Cool."
Derek watches him in his peripherals. "Do you want a drink?"
Stiles blinks at him, glances at his friends' retreating backs, and then looks at Derek again. "Uh, no. No, I'm fine." He averts his gaze, then, and rocks back on his heels awkwardly.
Derek stares at him, frowning. He takes another sip of whiskey and swallows it down with barely a wince. His free hand tucks back inside his pocket where his fingers can pick at each other again.
Eventually, Derek's patience wanes. "Did Boyd invite you guys?"
Stiles nods, but he is apparently back to avoiding Derek's eyes. "Uh, yeah. He told us last week about this fundraiser and asked if we wanted to come."
They lapse into silence again, but it's not the kind that Derek finds comfortable. A waiter passes by them, carrying a tray of champagne glasses, and Stiles nearly trips over himself when he snatches a hand out for one, stumbling over an apology mixed with a thanks. Derek watches him pour nearly half the glass into his mouth.
"How did step twenty-two go?" he asks.
Stiles swallows his mouthful of champagne with a wildly-contorted expression, coughing a little before he can answer. "You heard about that, huh?" he hisses through his lingering disgust. He looks down at his suit jacket and pulls at the bottom of it, as if looking for something to do. "Uh, yeah, yeah. It's fine. It went fine. Aiden won, but it was a fluke. I'll get a rematch at some point and make things right."
Derek bites back a smirk and watches Stiles' lip curl as he looks at his glass. "You wanna try this?" Derek offers, extending his whiskey glass towards the barista.
Stiles glances at him quickly before refocusing on the tumbler. His eyebrows pull inwards with concentration, his jaw sliding to the side as his lips pout. Then he tilts his head concedingly. "Sure, why not?" he mutters, reaching out to take the glass. His fingers don't brush Derek's, nor does he let the glass linger in both of their hands. He lifts it swiftly to his mouth, nose wrinkling at the smell, and takes a tiny sip.
Almost immediately, his eyes widen and his eyebrows twist in horror, shoving the tumbler back at Derek while his mouth curls in disgust. He grunts as he swallows and then makes noises of repulsion as he shakes his head, scraping his teeth along his tongue. Derek can't do anything to curb the grin stretching into his cheeks, so he takes a sip of the whiskey himself and swallows it with much more grace.
"Don't ever let me do that again," Stiles demands, tossing back another mouthful of champagne to wash the taste of whiskey out of his mouth.
Derek averts his gaze for a moment, trying not to frown at Stiles' words - because they imply that Derek is going to be a part of Stiles' life for "ever"; but there's also a very high chance that Derek is just overthinking a throwaway comment.
"Do they do cocktails here?"
Derek glances at Stiles, who is gazing over at the bar. "I think they have a limited menu. Would you like one?"
"I'd kill for a margarita," Stiles admits a little sheepishly.
Derek smiles and gestures his head. "C'mon."
The rest of the Deaton's crew are nowhere to be seen when they make it to the bar, leaning an elbow each on the surface. It's not too busy, but there are enough people that Derek and Stiles' shoulders are pressed against each other. Stiles deems it acceptable to make eye-contact with Derek after he orders them both a margarita, giving Derek an expression full of surprise.
"What?" Derek grunts, quirking an eyebrow.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to enjoy a cocktail."
"I'm not a type," Derek retorts. "I just enjoy what I enjoy."
Stiles ducks his head, nodding. Derek swears it looks like he's biting back a smile.
"Hey, Derek!" a voice calls out.
Derek's head swivels on his neck to spot Laura strutting towards him in her wedges. She's wearing a simple, emerald blouse and dress pants, her hair braided elegantly over her shoulder and her eye-make-up styled nicely.
"Did you and Peter dress to match?" he asks, smirking, when she comes to a halt behind the customer at the bar next to him. He saw her already at the start of the evening, but not since he saw what Peter is wearing.
She rolls her eyes. "I almost went home to change when I saw him."
The bartender starts to shake their cocktails, drawing Derek's eyes for a moment. He sees Stiles looking between him and Laura, and suddenly feels nervous.
"Are you having a cocktail?" Laura asks.
Derek clears his throat and places his hands on the edge of the bar, pushing himself away so that Laura can see past him to Stiles. "Stiles wanted one and I thought I'd join him," he answers, praying his nerves haven't seeped into his tone. "Uh, Stiles, this is Laura, my sister," he introduces, gesturing between them. "Laura, this is Stiles-" and his mind short-circuits for a hot second, glancing at Stiles' expression, which definitely doesn't help because the barista also looks a little nervous. "He's a friend," Derek settles on finally. "Boyd and I go to the coffee shop he works at for lunch."
Laura smiles amiably and reaches past Derek to shake Stiles' hand. "I didn't know 'friend' was still in his vocabulary," she teases. "You'll have to tell me how you guys managed to convince him to reinstate the position."
"I'm pretty sure we forced his hand."
Laura laughs. "Equally impressive." She turns her attention back to Derek, then, ignoring his glare. "Listen, I wanted to give you a heads up: Satomi's looking for you."
Derek frowns. "Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe she wants you to do a speech," she grins, patting his cheek when he gives her the most unimpressed face he can muster. "I'll catch you later, alright? I need to go mingle some more. It was nice meeting you, Stiles!"
"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. You too," Stiles responds quickly.
Derek is thankful that their drinks are slid across the bar to them, at this point, awkwardness threatening to melt him into a puddle at Stiles' feet. He hands a couple notes over to the bartender and picks up his glass, sliding the other over to Stiles, before turning and stepping away from the bar. Stiles follows after him, taking a delicate sip from the glass in his hand.
"So, uh, what d'you wanna do?" Derek asks, slipping his free hand back into his pocket. "I don't know where everyone else is."
Stiles avoids his eyes again. "Uh, I guess I should probably look at the art, huh? Since that's the whole - y'know - the whole thing."
Derek nods, trailing after Stiles when the barista walks to the nearest canvas. Stiles is still being weird with eye-contact and conversation, but he's not doing everything he can to escape this awkward interaction, so Derek really has no idea whether the barista actually wants to be anywhere near him or not.
They silently look at three canvases before Derek takes a deep breath and steps closer to Stiles so he can speak quietly and not be overheard (and his heart may or may not be battering against his chest). "Listen, Stiles, I know I told Laura you were my friend, but I just wasn't sure what to say, because I don't know if you actually are or not, if you wanna be friends at all. I kind of thought we were, at a point, but then something changed and you just- you don't seem comfortable around me. I don't know if I did something-"
"Oh my god, dude, no," Stiles splutters quickly, spinning to stare at Derek with wide eyes. "No, you didn't do anything. I'm sorry I made you think that, man."
Derek frowns at him gently, struggling to make sense of the situation with that new information. "Okay."
"Yeah, man. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd worry you'd done something. I guess I didn't really think, like, at all. Sorry, dude."
Derek takes another breath, his head tilting curiously. "Do you know my name?"
Stiles gapes at him. "What? Of course I know your name. How could I not know your name?"
Derek nods, glancing around them to make sure no one can hear them still. "Did you know that the first and last time you ever said my name in front of me was when I came into Deaton's for the first time and you and Scott were giving those actors a speech?"
Stiles' gaze goes distant for a moment, a fond smile curling at his mouth. Then he blinks and his smile drops, and he looks almost panicked. "Uh, yeah- I mean, no. Uh," he huffs out, shifting nervously. He takes a drink from his cocktail and winces. "You noticed that?"
"Did I notice that you only ever call me 'dude' or 'man'? Yes, Stiles."
Stiles groans and rubs a hand down his face. "Listen, man," he sighs, his hand dropping to slap against his leg. His eyes can't seem to decide between Derek's eyes or his chest, darting up and down erratically. And then words just start tumbling out of his mouth. "Alright, look, it's so much easier to interact with a walking, talking embodiment of human perfection when he doesn't have a name and hates your guts, okay? I mean, you're intimidating enough as it is, never mind if I humanised you by referring to you by your actual name. At least when you were just some nameless entity that stormed in and hated me for a little bit and then stormed off again, I knew how to react, right? I just had to snark right back and everyone's happy. When you said you didn't hate me, I just- I mean- how's a scrawny kid like me supposed to be friends with someone like you? And don't even get me started on being- y'know- I just don't think you realise what a freakin' hardship it is to look like this, dude. People like me aren't supposed to interact with people like you in any way other than antagonisation. It upsets the natural order of the world. So, yeah, I objectified you, and that was really shitty of me, but I literally have no idea how to behave around an actual human being that looks like this and considers me their friend - as in, at least somewhat enjoys spending time with me. Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is?"
Derek blinks, watching Stiles blankly as the barista seems to suck in air a little more enthusiastically than usual. His lips are pursed together now as if to prevent any more words from spilling out and falling to the ground at Derek's feet, one hand clutching his cocktail glass, the other balanced on his hip. Derek's pretty sure his brain is just white noise right now, but he knows he can't leave Stiles in silence after… after that.
"Do you have any idea how ridiculous you are?" Derek finally forces out. "You realise all of your friends are attractive men and women?"
"Well, yeah, of course, but not as- I mean, you're, like- you're just- you're on a different level, here, dude," Stiles retorts, gesturing vaguely at Derek's body. "You've got that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going on, and the angsty, mysterious, bad-boy thing going on, too."
"I'm pretty sure Boyd gives off the same vibes."
"Yeah, but- dude, you're- ugh," Stiles groans, throwing his head back. "I feel like you're just fishing for compliments, now."
Derek laughs quietly. "I'm just trying to understand why I've been wondering what the hell I did wrong for the past few weeks."
Stiles winces. "I really am sorry, man. I didn't think you'd notice or be bothered, like, at all. I promise I'll stop objectifying you."
Derek smiles. "I appreciate that."
"If I start acting like an idiot, though, that's on you. I tried to save you from that experience, but you've brought it on yourself."
"Stiles, you're always an idiot."
"Well, I'll be an even bigger one, now," he huffs.
Derek takes another sip of his cocktail, smiling into his glass. He admires the canvas they're stood in front of for another moment, and then realises he should maybe repay Stiles, considering the guy had word-vomited a bunch of compliments at Derek. "Y'know, your overabundance of personality could be considered intimidating," he comments.
"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult," Stiles responds, tossing Derek a pair of narrowed, golden-brown eyes. Derek chooses not to answer. "Wait, are you saying you're intimidated by me?"
"It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that."
"Then how would you say it?"
"You've got a big personality. I don't have much of one," Derek shrugs.
"What? Dude, of course you do."
"Hating everyone and everything?" he smirks, a bitter twist to his lips.
"No, man," Stiles frowns. "You're pretty protective. And caring. And you can be pretty selfless, too. And supportive, actually. And, you know what? That whole hating thing, I think you're just particular about where you spend your energy. I think you're comfortable in your own skin and with your own company, and you're just careful with who you let in because you don't like to waste your own time. It's pretty valid, to be honest. You're obviously good at figuring out who is worth your time, considering you talk to us, and that sounds really nice, man. I wish I could figure out who was gonna waste my time before I did a deep-dive on their backstory and spent hours finding things we had in common so we'd definitely have something to talk about."
Derek blinks at him for a moment, stunned (again). Then he clears his throat. "Did you do that to me?"
"Uh, no, I did not. I am good at realising whose time would be wasted by me if I tried to strike up a friendship or anything else, so."
"I don't think you've wasted my time," Derek blurts, but he realises it's true.
"You sure about that, dude?" Stiles scoffs.
"Yeah. I, uh, I think it was all worth it."
Stiles turns and stares at him. Derek's hand clenches into a fist in his pocket to stop it from reaching out.
"There you are, Derek."
Derek nearly flinches at the new voice. He turns and finds Satomi approaching them, smiling between them both. "Satomi," Derek smiles back. "How's your night going?"
"I would have normally said better than yours, but it seems you've finally found yourself some good company to keep you smiling at this event," she replies knowingly.
Derek feels embarrassment crawling up his spine. He feels like a teenager again, standing in front of the woman with those wise eyes of hers glinting cheekily. "This is my friend, Stiles. Stiles, this is Satomi."
"Pleasure to meet you, Stiles. I run the orphanage," Satomi greets, shaking his hand.
The introduction feels too impersonal to Derek, all of a sudden. Inadequate. "Satomi took my sisters and I in after the fire, while my uncle was in the coma. She looked after us."
Stiles gives her a soft, genuine smile. "It's an honour to be here, tonight," he says earnestly. "Are any of the paintings for sale, by the way? I noticed one of the Sheriff's station and I know my dad would love to hang it up in the bullpen or his office, or something."
Satomi smiles happily. "I'm not sure about that one, we'd have to check in with Tracy and see if that's something she'd be interested in. You can come with me to chat with her. In the meantime, Derek, would you mind speaking to Alec? He's over there by the pillar."
Derek nods, clearing his throat. "Yeah, of course. What's wrong?"
"I just think he could do with talking to someone who understands what he's going through. I think you're possibly quite similar."
Derek nods again, sends Stiles a slightly awkward smile, and then makes his way over to the teenager Satomi pointed out. The kid is stood with his arms folded across his chest, his dark-haired head bowed low to avoid eye-contact with anyone. Derek sees his fingers twitching rhythmically on his arm.
"Shouldn't you be at the buffet table?" Derek asks, curling his lips in a small, friendly attempt at a smile.
Alec glances up quickly, as if checking if Derek is actually talking to him, and his expression is hard and unyielding. "I'm not hungry."
Derek nods to himself, admitting silently that he sees why Satomi thought there were similarities between the two of them. "Which piece is yours?"
Alec throws him a glare. "Why are you talking to me? Who are you?"
The kid is definitely similar to how Derek was at that age. "My name's Derek," he answers, holding his hand out to shake.
Alec considers him for a moment, all wary-eyes and stiff posture. But he finally concedes and gives Derek's hand a quick, firm shake. "Alec."
Derek nods and smiles. "Nice to meet you, Alec." He takes a sip of his cocktail, wondering if the drink is damaging his reputation at all, and glances around the hall at the artwork. "I always felt uncomfortable at these fundraisers. I never made any of the art, so I didn't see why I had to be here."
Alec's head swivels to stare at him, but he pretends not to notice. "You grew up at the orphanage, too?" he asks quietly.
Derek nods and looks down at him. "For a couple years, yeah. Until my uncle could take us in."
"You never made any art?"
Derek takes a breath and glances around the hall again. "I had no idea what to make," he admits. "And I'm terrible at it, anyway."
Alec's mouth twitches with amusement. "Everybody hates being on my team when we play Pictionary 'cause they have no idea what I'm drawing."
Derek grins. "Yeah, I kicked over a few easels in my time."
Alec snickers quietly, hiding his face for a moment. He shifts on his feet a little uneasily before he looks across at a canvas hanging on the wall nearby. "Satomi says I don't have to make art," he mutters.
"You don't," Derek agrees.
"But then I'm just the weird kid that doesn't do anything," he says bitterly. "What did you do?"
"I read books."
Alec is silent for a moment, then he looks up sharply. "Are you the guy that owns the bookstore? The one that Brett and Lori borrow books from every fortnight?"
Derek nods. "You read?"
"Some of them, yeah. Most of them don't really interest me, though."
"You're welcome to swing by any time and see if there's anything that'd better suit you," Derek says.
Alec blinks up at him. "Really?"
"Yeah, of course. Even if reading isn't your thing, at least you can say you tried it."
Alec deflates a little. "What if it isn't my thing?"
Derek smiles. "Then you get to try another new thing. We'll figure out what makes you tick, don't worry."
"What if it takes a really long time?"
Derek's ears catch the sound of laughter and looks over his shoulder to where Scott, Isaac, Malia, and Liam are all overloading their paper plates with buffet food. Boyd is nearby, Erica leaning an arm on his shoulder, and they're both grinning widely. Derek feels his face soften a little and turns back to Alec.
"Take it from me, kid. Everyone's life moves at their own pace. Sometimes you can spend years thinking you had everything you wanted, only for something to change and you realise you were missing out on things you didn't even realise were possible for you. People's tastes and ambitions evolve throughout their entire lives. You're never tied down to one thing, and you shouldn't try to be. You just gotta try different things and see what you like, even if it means doing something scary that you never thought you'd do."
Alec is looking up at him with a more relaxed expression, but there's still tension around his eyes and in his mouth.
"But only if you think you're ready," Derek adds. "Sometimes you're ready and you don't even know it. But if you've got even one person you let in, one person you let know you, then you'll be fine. 'Cause sometimes one person is all it takes to encourage you to try new things, and those new things could change your life."
Alec blinks up at him for another moment, and Derek suddenly feels self-conscious under the intense gaze.
"Alec, if you want any food, you better go to the table now - I'm pretty sure Nolan just picked up the entire platter of chicken wings and walked off with it," Brett comments as he walks past, throwing a friendly grin to Derek.
Alec looks a little uncertain for a moment, so Derek smiles and gestures his head. "He's not kidding. That food disappears faster than lightning once the kids decide the adults are done with it."
Alec grins and hurries off, Derek twisting on his feet to watch him go. He feels his smile slip off his face, remembering what he was like at Alec's age at these events, and wishes he'd been more open to trying new things back then. Maybe he'd have realised sooner that having friends wasn't such a bad thing.
His eyes catch Stiles' across the hall, and he blinks stupidly. Stiles is staring at him as if not even listening to the conversation Satomi and a teenager are having at his side. Derek's never seen the barista's expression so soft, and he finds himself trapped in the gaze, his heartbeat thumping noisily in his ears. He supposes if he'd realised sooner that he was capable of having friends, maybe he would have hired someone else sooner than Boyd and never met him, which in turn would've meant he might never have met Stiles and the others, either. He thinks it's probably lucky, then, that his life moved at the pace it did, and there's no point wasting time wondering what if, because surely he'd never have found anything as stunning as the amber eyes gazing back at him.
Satomi catches Stiles' attention and the barista breaks the eye-contact, allowing Derek free movement again. He shakes the trance off and takes another drink of his cocktail, wondering if Stiles is enjoying his as much as Derek is. He lets his gaze sweep over the walls around him until it lands on a familiar section, and the ache inside him pulses.
He never really pays attention to any of the other canvases in this section. His eyes are always drawn immediately to the one with the large house, his amazement never lessening over the years at the detail in every brick and every chip in the wood. The house is three stories tall, grand but homely, with big windows and a porch with four pillars, and a railing at the top to make a balcony. The trees around the house are tall and covered in leaves, reaching out to the structure as if to shelter it. He always looks at the colours of the curtains in the windows, spots the football in the corner by the porch, tries to peer into the top-left window as if it'll actually show him the room beyond this time, and it always makes him hurt with a bittersweet longing.
Every brushstroke is ingrained in his memory. More-so than the sight of the house itself, which always makes him feel guilty. He can still remember the way the rooms were laid out, though, and if he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can recall the smell of the smoke from the chimney, the sounds of laughter and shouting, the creak in the wood when he ran up the stairs. He can remember helping his dad in the kitchen, or being scolded by his mom and Laura for playing too rough with the younger kids. He can remember sitting Cora on the banister, his hands hovering around her, and letting her slide down to the bottom step while she cackled delightedly. The painting shows the house bathed in a warm, golden light, and he can remember how that felt, too, when it came in through the windows - he remembers being laid out on the sofa with his mom at the other side, both of them buried in their books with warmth of the sun draping over them like a blanket.
"It's beautiful," a voice says quietly.
Derek blinks and looks left, finding Stiles at his side. The barista is staring at the painting, one hand in his pocket while the other holds his cocktail glass, and his expression seems melancholy. Derek never thought that anyone else could feel the sorrow in the warmth of the painting, except for him and his remaining family, but Stiles seems to sense it.
"It's not mine," Derek answers, his voice soft. "I never drew anything. Laura painted this our second year at the orphanage."
"You can tell she put a lot into it."
Derek looks back to the painting, his thoughts turning slowly in his head. "I think most people just see a big house in the woods."
Stiles clears his throat gently, lifting his hand from his pocket to scratch the wrist of the hand holding his glass. "There's more to it than that. A lot more," he murmurs. His hand lowers back to his side, but he doesn't slip it into his pocket again. Derek is hyper-aware of his own hand hanging an inch away. "It looks like a beautiful home."
Derek frowns faintly. "It was," he breathes, the ache inside him pulsing again.
Stiles shifts on his feet almost imperceptibly, but Derek can do nothing but focus all of his attention on the action, because it brings Stiles' shoulder to skim against Derek's, and he feels a brush of skin as the back of Stiles' hand whispers against his own. Something warm spreads from his left arm across his entire body, and the ache inside him goes a little fuzzy.
"What did you do instead of drawing?" Stiles murmurs.
Derek shrugs his left shoulder (and maybe he chooses that one just to feel Stiles' next to it). "I read books," he replies quietly. "They let me be anyone I wanted to be - even a kid who hadn't lost his family."
Stiles' head tilts towards him a little. "At least your coping method was productive. I did a lotta research on a whole bunch of subjects that have yet to be of any relevance to anything in my life."
Derek exhales a laugh through his nose, his lips quirking into an amused smile. When he turns to look at Stiles, he sees a similar expression on his face, but he also looks a little relieved, as if glad he's stopped the frown on Derek's face. Derek doesn't really know what to do with that (even if his body is screaming out to touch and hold and kiss), but Stiles doesn't seem to mind his amused stare, so he figures it's safe to maintain that. His finger may or may not twitch closer to Stiles' hand and elicit another surge of warmth up his arm when their knuckles brush, but Derek doesn't know how to thank Stiles any other way.
Eventually, they make their way back over to the Deaton's group, snatching up what little remains of the buffet food, and Derek finds himself surrounded by people that all actually seem to be his friends for the rest of the night - and, for the first time, he is among one of the last groups to leave the hall as the event draws to an end.
BONUS CONTENT
Laura cocks her head and watches her brother closely when he realises his friend has joined him. They exchange quiet words and small glances, and then Stiles moves closer, offering some small, physical comfort, and Laura's eyes nearly well up.
"Isn't that an interesting development," Peter's voice murmurs over her shoulder.
Laura rolls her eyes, ready to discourage whatever nefarious prank Peter's got ruminating in his head; but she turns to look over her shoulder at him, and his mouth is twisted in a wry smirk, but his eyes are uncharacteristically soft.
"I don't think I've ever seen him entertain a conversation in front of it before," she replies quietly, as if Derek will be able to hear them from across the hall.
"Good lord, is he smiling, now? Are we sure this is our Derek and not some happy-go-lucky imposter?"
Laura grins when she turns back to Derek and Stiles, confirming that her brother is, in fact, smiling in front of her painting of their family home. She almost doesn't want to breathe for fear of disturbing the moment. "I wanna take a picture to show Cora, but it feels like I'd be interrupting an intimate moment," she murmurs.
"Well, lucky for you, I have absolutely no qualms about intruding on anyone's privacy," Peter smirks, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Besides, they're at an event that is open to the public. If they wanted a private moment, Derek has a perfectly-decent bedroom to take him back to."
Laura snorts quietly, lifting a hand to hide her grin behind. "I think it's a little more earnest than that."
"Are you trying to say there's something frivolous about a night of-"
"You don't need to finish that sentence, Peter. Ever."
Peter grins wickedly at her. "I'm just trying to be the cool uncle." He takes the picture of the two young men smiling softly at each other and shows it to Laura. "They'll thank me on their wedding day when this comes up on the slideshow."
Laura rolls his eyes at his theatrics, but part of her does wonder whether Derek has finally found someone to open himself up to. She looks at the way his finger brushes against Stiles', her brother having clearly initiated the contact, and acknowledges the sheer significance of something so tiny and subtle.
Across the hall, Scott sees a soft, genuine smile on his best friend's face and watches him quietly, unwilling to spoil the moment by pointing it out to someone else and turning it into gossip. His chest warms and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief, and he wonders what words he can best use to describe the moment to Noah later. Boyd, a couple of feet away, has also noticed the look on Derek's face. He allows a small twitch of his own lips, relieved that the night has gone even better than he had planned. It feels like a turning point, like Boyd won't need to interfere as much anymore, like he's done what he set out to do when he first decided to experiment with not doing the lunch-run and letting the baristas he now considers friends force themselves into Derek's life, too.
Over the heads of their friends, Boyd and Scott make eye-contact, and they share a small, knowing, secretive smile.