0.2
"Who the hell are you?!" screeched Stiles. He soon grabbed the rolling pin and hoped internally it was enough to defend himself.
"I could ask the same for you," said the unknown man, "You're in my house,"
Stiles scoffed at the answer, "Nice try, dude. However, I am pretty sure that this is my house. I have the keys to this place and the lease signed," he retorted.
They exchanged glares in the silence and began were waiting for the next words to utter from either mouths. Lowering the bat, "Well, seeing as you aren't leaving anytime soon," the man walked valiantly into the kitchen and grabbed the bacon that was laid on top of the paper towels before pulling out the chair and sitting on the table.
"What the fuck, dude!? Those are mine!" exclaimed Stiles.
The unknown man chuckled, with the bacon in hand pointing directly to Stiles, "Have you realized who bought all of these furniture?" he theorized, "I bought these all by my own money. Well, excluding your belongings and newfound lease," he explained.
Huffing in frustration, he soon lowered the rolling pin before turning the stove off, his food thankfully had not been burnt. He laid the food onto the plate and before the unknown figure could even grab the next bacon strip, Stiles, enraged, used his hand to swat the man's hand before claiming the food with an arm, protectively safeguarding it from further consummation. The unknown man raised an eyebrow and stood up, and went to the refrigerator. Stiles did not care whether the man bought the food or not. He cooked it, therefore claiming it as his. While the man was searching through the fridge, he could see the taut waist and before he could perv on longer, the figure straightened his back, his arms now filled with some food. Closing the door of the fridge, he went over to the counter, cutting the foods himself and the silence grew thicker.
"I'm still staying," Stiles added into the silence, clearly trying to make a statement to the man. The man did not answer, and carried on with his preparation. The silence was deafening to Stiles, obviously showing he was not fazed by the situation. Maybe deeply, but his expression was focused and also passive towards the young boy's words.
The chopping and sizzling was the only sounds the silence was filled with and Stiles could not help but feel unnerved by the unknown man. Standing up, "Dude, what the hell? This is my place! Gosh, here I come to start a new life and here comes a douche as a roommate," said Stiles in a frustrated tone.
Just as the man had finished cooking, he gave Stiles the most intense glare. The consternation was evident in Stiles as he couldn't help but feel his heart beating at a rapid rate. The man walked up to him, deeper than the personal space intended and said in a tone that was worse from a normal principal would give, "One more word from you, and this place will be the last you'll ever see, clear?"
But Stiles wasn't having it. He was too stubborn to be backed down, "Your dreams dude. I just said three words," challenged Stiles. Stiles could feel the heavy exhalation of the man's breath ghosting past his face and the underside of his chin. Warm. "Try it. My dad's a sheriff," he added. He could feel his composure quivering when he felt the breath. His eyes were slowly drifting to the stubble that really suited him, along with his lips. His eyes were tracing the outlines of the lips and then to his eyes, with a hazel colour that was just encapsulating.
The man's movement broke Stiles' thread of thoughts, "Whatever, kid," he muttered.
"It's Stiles, Sourwolf," retorted Stiles but the man just kept quiet and went on to deal with his breakfast. Two can play at the game, he thought. He picked his plate up and dumped them inside the sink but left them unwashed. He could feel the man's anger returning as he stared at Stiles with eyes that could burn holes in his skull. Childish move, yes, but Stiles always had reasons to do things and in his hopes, maybe irking him to no end could be incentives to get him moving. He wouldn't have enough money to move again, and he was sure hell not going to be the one leaving the house empty-handed. As much as he wanted to feel terrified, he kept the indifference going and preambled to his bedroom, and left the said room with a towel in hand to the bathroom.
Closing the door behind him, he knelt down and sat on the bathroom floor. Should have known it was too good to be true, thought Stiles to himself. The luxury he experienced barely 24 hours ago was a mere fabrication. He couldn't blame Scott for that, not like he had any knowledge about it. There were only two people he could blame, the idiotic of a landlord and himself. Himself for not being circumspect enough to ask if the apartment was inhabited or not and the landlord for being a surly asshole.
This is Stiles Stilinski. He wasn't going to let some man or a landlord that resents his job being the deterrent of his life. Standing up, he went to shower and his mind was empowered with the small motivation that his mind had mustered. In his definition, ADHD is not gonna be stopped by emotions nor people's presence. Satisfied with his cleanliness, he left the bathroom with the towel wrapped snugly around his waist and opened the door, only to be met by shock as the man was standing in front of the door with his arms folded.
~RETURN~
Derek didn't see the sense of standing outside the bathroom door. He felt like he perv waiting for Stiles outside the bathroom. He wanted to affront him for not washing the dishes, but was stumped by the sight before him. Stiles wasn't the most fittest person unlike him, but he certainly was lean. No abs, but his torso was defined enough. Derek never had anything for moles, but upon seeing the body – and eventual face – of Stiles, he felt a fetish was already at its incipience. The moles were like paint being scraped by the toothbrush with a small cardboard box, splattering and making the moles sporadic. His eyes then surreptitiously went over to his waist, and Derek could feel himself being lost in ecstasy. The waist didn't have a visible V-line but had enough definition to go to his nether region and the light trace of hair, was just a one way ticket to find his demise.
"Ummm... Never thought I get to say this, but," started Stiles, "Like what you see?" he ended with a smug smirk plastered on his face. The question definitely threw him off, and his awed expression was replaced with a scowl. Without a word, he left the vicinity and returned to his room. Huffing indignantly, he went over to collect his towel, and showered once he found the coast was clear. Stiles' abrasive behaviour was starting to get the best of him and he had to control the desire to rip his throat out, possibly with his teeth.
~RETURN~
Stiles entered his room, clearly impressed with his one liner. He could hear the shower being turned on and inhaled as he went over to the wardrobe to collect his clothes. He donned outdoor clothes, and inhaled once more, with realization dawned on him that it was job hunting day. A college degree is great, but to find a job? That was like going through high school all over, devoting 12 hours for money. Just money. Grades are now substituted for money.
Grabbing his phone, he stumbled upon a text from Scott that he will be at his apartment in 20 minutes. Grabbing his wallet from the nightstand, he left his room, and found the area devoid of Sourwolf's presence. He needed to deal with the issue of his so-called roommate, and with only 20 minutes to spare, he figured it'd be enough to deal with the slob of a landlord.
~RETURN~
"No,"
Stiles looked surprised, which was no surprise. The landlord, whom Stiles thought may had a bad day from their last encounter, was actually surly by nature. Composing himself, he said, "I'm sorry, but you don't get it. There's another person living in my apartment. I was given the prospect that my apartment would be vacant, but it's not. It's been taken. By an unknown man,"
"Look, kid. I don't care and honestly, it's Mr. Hale you have to deal with, not me," said the landlord, and with that finality, he left and retreated to his office, not heeding nor caring towards Stiles' predicament. "Look on the bright side, kid. If anything happens, he could be your lifeline," he added. As Stiles was about to make his exit, "Unless, you got some money to handle that?" he asked greedily.
Huffing in annoyance and rolling his eyes, he left the building and was glad to finally see Scott, who had just arrived at the area.
Noticing the annoyance embossed on the face of his best friend, "Dude, you okay?"
"Yea, I'm alright," he replied. A short silence between them was subsequent until, "Nope, I'm not,"
"What happened?" asked Scott. The total obliviousness that Scott had exuded was enough to tell Stiles that he too, had no knowledge regarding Mr. Hale AKA Sourwolf living in the confines of his new apartment. With the incident regarding the door yesterday, the evidence only gets more asserted. Scott had nothing to do with it.
"Some dude apparently lives in my apartment before I arrived," explained Stiles tersely.
"Dude, that's rough. Did you talk to the landlord?"
"Yeah," he said, didn't help much. Son of a bitch for a landlord didn't care at all," he rejoined.
"Let's just get you a job to get the whole thing out of your system, alright?" suggested Scott. With a shrug, they went over to numerous places and Stiles had become completely indecisive of the job offers that were furnished in the cities. Most of the jobs pays really well, but time was also a huge factor in the process. He soon came across a shop that did apparels and Stiles, who was still mulling about the situation decided to contemplate on the offers before any decision could be made.
"Dude, the pay is enough for the rent and the groceries combined," said Scott. Both of them were now in Starbucks, with offers now swimming in Stiles' mind. He could give a month to think about it, and the interviews were all arranged on different dates. The prospect and contingency of having a stable income was almost getting the best of Stiles' mind. Almost.
"I suppose they'll work, but I don't want to work," said Stiles petulantly, "I WANT FREEDOM!" he exclaimed unabashedly, not caring about the surprised, annoyed and amused looks from the public. Scott's face was as red as a tomato and Stiles' being the gentleman he was, sat down and moved on from the situation like it never occurred at all, "But seriously, I could just wait, I don't know maybe, a month or two, or forever," commented Stiles.
"But dude, you don't have much money left. Like what, you have about enough to cover for, I don't know, two months with that savings you had since we were 15?" reasoned Scott.
"Yea, I do. All the more reason to relax for the next two months, right?" said Stiles, his eyebrows wagging in excitement.
Scott groaned in worry, but did little to stop him, "Alright, dude,"
"Hey. Don't worry so much, I have you in case I'm in a tight situation,"
"Right, my money is covered by the internship and I'm not sure how much I can proffer you," answered Scott.
"Well, let's live in the now, shall we?" asked Stiles while sipping his coffee nonchalantly.
"I guess," said Scott. Your dad and my mom are so going to kill me.
~RETURN~
Returning home from the streets of New York had never felt so good to Stiles. Opening the door after saying his goodbye to Scott, he plopped himself onto the couch and sighed contentedly at the contact between his skin and the soft material of the sofa. Sourwolf sure picked well in materials, thought Stiles. Too indolent to move, he felt his eyes shutting and let sleep overtake him.
~RETURN~
Derek returned home and saw the body that was laid onto the sofa. The body of Stiles was laid there, his mouth opened, drooling on the pillow and saliva pooling onto the surface of the pillow. As disgusting as it may be, Derek smirked in amusement. His eyes trailed to his back then to the hem of his shirt, where the nape of his back was shown. The waistband of his underwear was making Derek's pants feel tighter and as Derek quickly went over to his room, not wanting to feel anymore uncomfortable, much less awkward around the young man.
~RETURN~
The phone vibrated and Stiles immediately shot out of his slumber, letting the grogginess abate in his system. He picked the phone and answered with a lazy drone in his cadence, "Hmm?"
"Dude, you free now?" asked Scott.
"I guess, what's up?"
"I'm going to drag you to this party that Isaac's friend is hosting, it's gonna be rad," exclaimed Scott. Stiles glanced at the clock and agreed with the plan. He hung the line up and he stretched, feeling the weariness gone in a matter of few seconds. He stood up and entered the room, picked up his towel and cleaned himself. With that done, he wore a simple blue shirt with a pair of jeans that emanated casual when he looked in the mirror. He somehow did not mind the presence of the Hale stranger, seeing that he was partially thankful he was not going to be completely lonely during his stay in New York, albeit a bit too hasty and impulsive. In the interim, he was looking forward the party that Scott was bringing him into, and he was not going to sweat the little things. He closed his door and passed the door that was occupied by a certain, brooding man.
The duo met up, after Stiles basically chastising him with the idea of Scott trying to invite the Sourwolf, as Stiles nicknamed him to join them the to the party, which basically ended up with Stilies lambasting him for being an idiot using the words, "Scott, your friendly personality is not necessary at this moment," which was responded with more pleas from the young man, causing him to further reply, "Last chance, Scotty," prompting the wavy hair man to pout with a side of a set of puppy dog eyes that he had mastered to perfection. But Stiles almost felt for it. Almost.
"Puppy dogs eyes or not, it won't work on me," said Stiles while passing Broadway Street which was located a stone's throw from the apartment.
"It will take a million years for me to use those eyes on me Scotty," said Stiles.
"It was worth a try," said Scott with a pout.
"Mhmm, right. I'm surprised your mom still falls for it," mused Stiles.
"What can I say? I'm a mommy's boy,"
"Mhmm, so you say, Scotty," replied Stiles, "so you say,"
~RETURN~
The party that they have arrived was quite simple. No grand dance floor, or any stripper poles nor the presence of any hedonistic items, besides the weeds, alcohol and shishas and hookas. It was more of a lounge theme, and Stiles felt at ease that it was not some grand bash that most clubs use and recycle every night. Besides, it was nice way to throw off the sleeping spell that was still in his system. The place had bean bags and were decorated with lights that erected an air of psychedelia in the atmosphere, or maybe it was just the weed induced people talking, Stiles could not tell.
Scott had gone over to get his best friend a drink and find Isaac, leaving Stiles alone to traverse around the area. It was comfortable and was not expecting the women in the area to start hitting on him. If at any given rate, it was probably the weed and alcohol doing it's responsibility well.
Scott returned moments later, with glasses in his hands and a certain curly hair boy who had blue eyes that sparkled whenever light sources shone on it. Stiles figured his was Isaac that Scott had spoken so much about.
"Isaac Lahey,"
"Stiles," he replied.
"Stiles? Is that a real name?" he asked innocently. Gosh, he reminds me of Scott in a way, thought Stiles.
"You don't wanna know his real name," contradicted Scott.
"Why not?" asked Isaac with a pout. Yep, definitely a Scott here.
"His name is really hard to pronounce, let alone, even spell it.
"Amen to that," perked Stiles.
"Oh, well. I guess we should lounge about?" suggested Isaac.
"You know it," said Scott and Stiles in unison.
~RETURN~
Waking up to New York noises every morning and night was something Derek had accustomed for a while during his stay there. It was easy to put a mental barrier between the dissonance of the city and the peace in the room. It was a matter of practice honed to perfection and Derek was content that he was not like most New Yorkers that recently moved into the area.
But he had not in fact, prepared for the noises that filled the air outside of his room.
With his eyelids opening as fast as unwinding blinders, his ears were bleeding upon hearing the sounds of laughter and the slurring chattering that made its way into his poor ears. Not to mention the clattering and shifting of furniture that made a coherent screeches when it made friction upon the floor. Grumbling, Derek uncovered his comforter and left his room with a stern and consternated look etched on his face.
He saw the young boy – Stiles,, he recalled – stumbling every furniture that was placed around the area. He was giggling uncontrollably whenever he made contact with the furniture and pursued to even comment how evil and vile the furnitures were when they impeded his path to his bedroom. Derek had no idea whether to find the display endearing or annoying. For all he could discern, it was saddening to see. He was scowling now over the fact that someone was living in such a careless lifestyle. He was not a drinker, and he did not approve of the frittering of human souls with hedonism as custom.
Derek stood still in front of the young man when he finally bumped onto the man. He batted his eyelids at the man, as if Derek radiated light that had intense radiated brightness.
"Ah, Sourwolf,!" he exclaimed before hugging the figure carelessly. Derek grabbed the man, trying to help balance his posture but his inebriety was not reciprocating his assistance. The smell of weed and cigarettes was permeated around his clothing and Derek grimaced in disgust when his senses detected the scent.
"It's Derek," replied Derek gruffly.
"No, it's not. It's Sourwolf. Sourwolf Hale!" he replied defiantly. Derek stifled the laugh that was fighting to escape his lips, "I wanna go to bed. Have you seen my room. It's really cozy if you get to know him,"
"Him?"
"Who's him?"
"What are we talking about?" asked Stiles dumbly.
"I'll just send you to the room,"
"My room? I have a room?" slurred Stiles.
Rolling his eyes, Derek guided the young man to the said room and placed him onto the bed with as much care as he can muster., but Stiles was not giving the said characteristic in response.
"Hmm, soft. Is this a cloud?" asked Stiles. Without any response, Derek unbutton his pants with a blush on his face. He was thankful of the lack of brightness in his room. He was also glad of the complaisance Stiles was giving when he allowed the man to unclothe his jeans. With his boxers and shirt left, Stiles began rambling incoherent statements for a few minutes until he heard snoring. Derek looked at the man's lips parted in peace. With a small chuckle, the man tucked him into bed and left the room alone.
He returned his room and slept with a certain sleeping man in his mind.
A/N: I'll be updating this story weekly. Hopefully. Hehe. Follow, favorite, comment if you enjoyed the stories.