Making his way to Central Park was more of a hassle than Stiles imagined. He had to switch lines several times; fell down several sets of underground stairs, as well as up a few sets; and felt like an idiot because he was so hot down here that he was sure his face was beet red. He wished Derek had invited him to do something instead of Emily, not that he didn't like Emily, she seemed nice so far, but Derek was more of a priority. He did kind of need some friends though. It would be pretty awkward if he had to call the guy from the bar back, so that wasn't an option. Emily was the only person in the city, besides Derek, that he knew. And Derek may not even be staying.
As he approached the lake (which was also much further inside the gigantic park than he had realised) he was out of breath and about forty five minutes late. He had text Emily to tell her he was still coming, but looking around he didn't see her anywhere in the throng of people. It was a pretty hot day, so Stiles took off Derek's jacket as he walked around on the grass, keeping his eyes out for Emily. All he saw was colour everywhere he looked, people in bright reds, greens, yellows, it kind of hurt his eyes with the hangover. Sitting under the shade of a huge oak tree for some respite from the sun, he text Emily to tell her where he was; well, he guessed where he was – at the lake under an oak tree. Hopefully there weren't too many oaks in this area of the park, and hopefully he was at the right lake; who knew there were so many? He laid his head back on the ground, using Derek's jacket as a make shift pillow, and tried to drown out the noise of the park with his own thoughts. Should he ask Derek if he felt some sort of tension too? It might only make things worse, especially if Derek didn't suspect that Stiles had any feelings above friendship for him, but the way he had looked at him when they were swapping t shirts, the way he tensed when it was possible Stiles was meeting the guy from the bar... Shit, it could just be some sort of Derek-thing, Stiles knew how weird he could be sometimes.
"Hi stranger, didn't think I'd ever find you in this crowd of idiots." Opening his eyes and craning his neck, he was greeted by a huge white smile; Emily stood over him.
"Hey, sorry I have the worst hangover, I was trying to drown out this noise and all this colour, it hurts my eyes." Stiles covered his eyes for effect, laughing slightly along with Emily.
"Good job I'm in all black then, I decided to take a stand against summer. It's my worst season, especially in New York." Emily flopped onto the ground next to him, her black skirt, which was lined underneath with a few layers of chiffon, rising around her as she sat. Long legs, covered with black tights, led down to her black and white patent brogue encased feet. She had on a practically see through vest top in the deepest red underneath an oversized black cardigan flecked with grey. A huge floppy black sun hat and circular black sunglasses adorned her head, and a thick black bracelet with gold insets finished her off. Fishing through her bag (also black) which she had thrown down next to her– Stiles could see it was Chanel – she got out a packet of Marlborough Reds and lit one up, as well as a green apple which she set down on the grass for later.
"You look um – pretty gothic Emily I've gotta say. Good though." He smiled to show he was just kidding, in all honesty he was glad she wasn't joining in with the summer phase, he liked summer sure, but so far in New York it had been awful, well the subway had been awful, and seen as that was his entire way of travel that was a pretty big factor. Emily smiled back, white teeth emerging from red coated lips.
"Good – I'm glad. I hate those fucking sun dresses. Who wants to tan any more? It's not the nineties." She threw her cigarette away and took a hearty bite out of her apple. "So how was your night? For me a hangover means a really good night, because I had so many drinks because I was having so much fun, or a re-e-e-ally bad night, because I had to block it out with so much tequila."
"The first I guess, I dunno. I went and met this guy that I met on the subway at this bar/club place, I dunno they said it was a bar but it definitely wasn't like bars back home in Beacon Hills, it was all like blue and pink with this really loud music and you know, I kind of like those down and dirty bars better you know? And -"
"Yeah I like those too." Emily laughed, "Sorry for interrupting, I can just see you're going on one of those rant things you do and I kind of want this to feel like a real conversation – you know, where you say something then I comment on it?" She laughed again, resting her head on Stiles' shoulder as she continued to eat. "Go on."
"Yeah um – oh right, it wasn't really my scene at all, so I just got drunk, especially because of the people I was with, I mean the guy was cute and everything and we kissed -" Stiles blushed.
"Go you." She replied dryly.
"- but then when I went to the bar again – and by this point I was falling all over and I was practically laid on the bar – I saw this guy and well, they wouldn't serve me -"
"Too drunk right? Happens to me all the time. Invest in a hip flask for when that part of the night comes."
" - so then I go over to this guy who I think looks like... well -" Stiles blushed again, glad that he wasn't staring face to face with Emily so she couldn't see his red face, he felt awkward talking about stuff like this with someone, he never had before, but this was a new city, and he was trying to change, to be more open.
"You thought he was cute?" She continued for him, unperturbed.
"Yeah. So I go over and ask him if he can buy a drink for me, more just to start a conversation with him really, and he turns round and it's this guy I knew from back home!" Stiles smiled at the memory, he knew how odd it was that he ran into Derek, but the more he thought about it the more it made him smile. Thank god he was so drunk really, or he never would have got the nerve up to walk across the bar and talk to him, and thus never found out it was Derek; never have slept in the same bed as him (even though he didn't remember it); never got to go to breakfast with him or spend any time with him.
"No shit?! That's what I love about this city. What happened?" She looked up at him quizzically, trying to figure out if Stiles was a slut or a romantic.
"Nothing, I mean I was so drunk that he tried to take me home, but I didn't remember my address, then I guess I passed out on the way home because the next thing I knew I was waking up in his hotel room."
"You dirty boy!" she lifted her head off his shoulder and turned to him, lowering her glasses and widening her eyes.
"Not like that! I mean, unless he raped me." Stiles laughed as Emily widened her eyes further, "Kidding! He's not even gay. Straight as they come, well I think so. I've been reading into things today, I think there's still vodka in my system."
"Reading into things how?" Emily asked, relaxing now she knew Stiles was kidding – it was always a little difficult trying to gage someone's humour – and putting her head back on his shoulder.
"Well like, these are all his clothes."
"Underwear?"
"His."
"That could be something, I dunno." She took off her hat to scratch her head, dark hair falling down her back. "I used to wear my boyfriends clothes all the time, but obviously he never wore mine, it's different with gay guys though, what else?" She waved her hand as if irritated with her own inability to interpret Derek's actions.
"Well when I woke up I put on his t-shirt, you know because mine was pretty nasty with the drink and sweat and all, and then he came in and asked to swap because that was his favourite, and when I took it off – I dunno, he kind of looked over my body, I think." Stiles frowned, did Derek actually look over his body, or did he just look at his body, just because it was a body and it was there, it was a pretty natural thing to do. The glint in his eyes though...
"That could be something." Emily began, extracting another green apple from her Chanel. "But then maybe he was just like, comparing or something?"
"Nothing to compare, the guy's built." Stiles let himself think about that body for a moment, till he felt Emily's hand pressed against his abdomen.
"It's not like you're not built, I can feel muscles under there." Emily smiled lightly at him, before turning her examination into a little tickle between his ribs.
"Stop, stop!" Stiles shouted, laughing, as he pulled her hand off. "I suppose I'm not bad – I play lacrosse – but Derek is really, you know..."
"Hot?" She finished. They both started laughing as their eyes met and they knew she had gotten the answer perfectly.
"Yeah, hot." Stiles winced a little as he said it, it was one thing to think it but he felt awkward saying it out loud.
"Anything else?" Emily continued as she laid down on the ground, her head parallel with Stiles' outstretched knees, her own propped up knees level with Stiles' head.
"When we were on our way to breakfast – and you know that's something in itself, me and this guy weren't exactly friends back home, I mean he kind of scares me, he has that whole bad boy, leather jacket, dark stubble, frown, hard jaw thing going on. Well I grabbed his arm you know, I didn't mean to or anything, just to pull him through the crowd on 14th Street -"
"I hate that street."
"-and he got really tense and stuff, but he didn't try and throw me off or anything, and we kind of looked at each other, so I just let go in case he thought I was being gay or something."
"Well, weren't you?" She asked. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. "Come on, you totally wanted to hold his hand or whatever, I say you should have just done it." She sat up so she could look into Stiles' eyes, taking off her sunglasses and crossing her legs. "I don't really know what to make of all this stuff, I mean it sounds pretty intense, but then someone else might just think you know, whatever. Why don't you just ask him? You said you guys weren't friends anyway – so just text him or something and say 'do you like me?'" She stopped for a moment, chewing on the arm of her sunglasses, in thought. "But then again texting someone saying that sounds pretty lame doesn't it, and if some guy texted me that I'd be like 'what?'" Another frown crossed her face. "Argh! Stiles, you are so irritating." She slapped his arm playfully.
"Jeez sorry." He laughed along with her. "I feel like such an idiot not knowing what to do, but I seriously don't have a clue. Not one. No clues for poor Stiles. Derek's so hard to read. And for god sake we've only spent one freaking day together, not even a full day! I feel like a douche, he's probably just being nice because he knows me from back home and stuff, I should just stop with this reading into things right?" He flopped his head down onto the ground, purposefully hard enough for it to hurt; trying to bash some sense into his thick skull.
"Just go spend more time with him, invite him to a movie or something. The new Batman just came out, two guys going to see that wouldn't seem gay or anything, so you can imagine it's a date while he just enjoys the movie. You might even get a hand-in-the-popcorn moment." A mischievous smile crossed her face as she remembered her own hand-in-the-popcorn moment with one of her ex-boyfriends.
"I don't think he's a movie type..." Stiles mused, trying to think what he really knew about Derek. Not a whole lot.
"Well it can't hurt to ask, right?"
"Yeah – thanks man. I mean thanks... girl?" Stiles and Emily both began laughing.
Two of Emily's apples each (how many did that bag hold?), a half-assed attempt to walk around the park, and two hours later, Stiles found himself at the corner of Fifth Avenue and East 67th Street as he watched the thin, tall, black clad figure of Emily disappear down the street. She lived downtown, but said she spent a lot of her time at her parents place, who were some sort of Upper East Side society couple and lived in pampered luxury in the penthouse of one of those old Rosario Candela buildings. For a while he just stood there, trying to restore some energy, his hangover was still raging, and he didn't think he could muster up enough strength to get all the way back downtown. He was tempted to walk, just to avoid the heat of the subway, but he knew he'd never make it, well not without dropping dead on the way. With a resigned sigh he set off down Fifth Avenue, searching for a station as he traversed the much clearer streets up here.
After another awful journey – Stiles really did hate the subway – he arrived back home, moaning as he trudged up the six floors to his apartment. Thank god he had forgotten to turn the air con off, the place was nice and cool, and with another huge moan he stripped off Derek's clothes, wishing that jeans weren't so uncomfortable to sleep in so he didn't have to use so much energy. His undressing was quite an ordeal, at one point he was just laid on the floor, one leg in the jeans, one leg out, groaning as he tried to drag himself across the floor to his bed. The white covers had never felt so good. Taking off his (or more accurately Derek's) t shirt, socks, and boxers – the jeans were already off, after a huge struggle – while under the covers, he threw them onto the floor with all his other dirty clothes and rolled himself into the double duvet as if it was a huge tube of squishy warmth, or perhaps it could be the warm arms of Derek wrapped around him... either way, he fell asleep almost immediately.
Woken from a deep, deep slumber by the sound of his alarm, Stiles cursed loudly, wishing his phone was right next to him so he could go back to sleep. Unfortunately, he had left it in the pocket of Derek's jeans, which were all the way across the room. He laid there for a good five minutes, mentally willing the alarm to stop, the phone to run out of battery, a bolt of lightning to come through the window and destroy the phone – anything! It was a few more moments till it hit him that the alarm was going off for a reason; school. Jumping out of bed as if he'd been prodded with a hot poker he ran across the room to turn off the alarm. The screen told him it was 9:15. It was registration week, so he could skip it if he wanted, but Emily had begged him to come in, he had left her alone yesterday. She had only been there for an hour listening to some seminar about the dangers of the city and being safe; not that she didn't already know, she had grown up here, but she had complained non stop that people kept looking at her as if she was a freak, and both seats either side of her had been suspiciously empty. Possibly her lack of a smile (except when she was around Stiles, or anyone else she actually liked) and the presence of her huge black hat, sunglasses, and all black outfit may have put people off – at least that's what Stiles guessed.
He had gotten a good 15 hour sleep, more than enough time to recharge from his hangover, and he was feeling energized. Plugging his iPhone into the dock in the kitchen he blasted music as he hopped into the shower, sticking some toast into the toaster, ready to be cooked when he got out.
As he ate toast on the sofa in his towel ten minutes later he checked his phone, expecting a text from his dad, he usually got at least one a day, and sure enough it was there. That text, however, waned in importance to a small blue dot next to the name 'Derek'. Tapping his name he looked through the five texts from him, all from yesterday, his toast frozen in his hand and his eyes widening as he read.
'Sorry I was weird when you left, hope you're ok.' - 4:15PM. And Stiles had thought that he was the one who was weird, sure Derek had been a bit off, but who was he to question super angry wolf boy?
'Stiles? Are you angry with me?' - 5:26PM. Shit, why hadn't he checked his phone yesterday? Derek was clearly pissed off.
'Stiles! Are you just ignoring me or have I done something wrong?' - 5:58PM. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Stiles chanted in his head as he read the texts. This was so unlike Derek, he had thought the guy didn't even really want him around.
'Sorry for whatever I did' – 6:41PM. Holy shit. Was this Derek or was this some super emotional guy who was comfortable expressing his feelings into actual words? Granted they were just text messages, but he could never imagine something like this coming out of Derek's mouth unless he was talking to his dying grandmother or something, maybe not even then, he seemed like he'd be the steely, strong and silent type, keeping his cool even in any situation.
'If I knew where you lived I'd come and make sure you're ok – hope the woman outside that diner didn't get you on your way home. ha.' - 9:01PM. Jesus. H. Christ. Derek Hale just did a 'ha'. The thought of Derek typing out a 'ha' was unimaginable, almost as much as the thought of the guy actually laughing. It was too much for Stiles. Inexplicably, he started laughing himself. It started off as a little snort and a chuckle, but eventually he was laying back in the chair, head thrown back, spewing laughter between mouthfuls of toast. What the fuck had happened to Derek? Picking up the phone from where he'd dropped it on the floor, he quickly typed a reply.
'sorry I didnt reply yesterday, only just checked my phone. honestly wasnt ignoring you, ill call you on my way home from school.' - 9:37AM. He pressed send and watched the bar fill up as 'Delivered' appeared under his bubble; before he could over analyse his text and amend it until he drove himself crazy. Still laughing every now and then as he got ready, Stiles wished the day was just over already so he could call Derek. He'd do it right now, but he didn't want to seem desperate or anything, though Derek clearly had no qualms with it – five freaking texts. As funny as he found it, in the back of his mind, behind his laughter, lurked a feeling of unease, Derek seemed really upset, and he was clearly thinking about their breakfast, the way he was acting, and Stiles. The thought made Stiles smile, and this time it wasn't because he was amused.
Four hours later Stiles emerged from the NYU Gym, freshly showered and carrying his lacrosse bag under his arm. He had almost forgotten that there was a friendly game today, for anyone who cared to join up. Luckily the players had been good – not the types just trying to get into it, but guys who had been playing for years. Stiles had nothing against newcomers, but it had taken him years to become a good player himself (and he still considered himself pretty sub-par) and he couldn't be bothered to break in any newbies. He just wanted to let off some steam, and lacrosse was perfect. It took him back to his days in Beacon Hills, and had given him a slight sense of nostalgia; he could just imagine Scott shouting to him during the game; Jackson showing off; Danny showcasing his impressive goalie skills. The guys on his team had all been friendly bar a few idiots – he thought they would have been gone by college, but no such luck – and he thought he may have made a few new friends, though he wasn't really concentrating on new friends right now, all he wanted to do was call Derek. Fishing his phone out of his bag, he tapped the 'D' at the side of his contacts list, finally reaching Derek. He took a deep breath before pressing his name, what was he supposed to say? He wanted to be one of those people who knew exactly how a conversation would go down, exactly what they wanted to say to the other person, exactly what emotions they wanted to express and the tone they wanted to use, but of course, that wasn't Stiles.
"Stiles." The grunt at the other end of the phone shocked him, he hadn't even heard the dial tone. He stopped in the middle of the street, staring into the distance without really seeing, wondering what to say. He should have wrote it down or something.
"Derek, hi, hi, hi... hi!" He slapped his head with his palm. "Um – are you okay? Sorry I didn't reply yesterday, I dunno, you're jeans have some wolf powers that stop the vibration being felt or something, I didn't even check it until I woke up this morning, and I mean, you didn't do anything wrong yesterday at all. If anything I thought I was the weird one." Stiles rambled as he crossed the street, heading for his subway stop.
"Sorry about those texts. I felt like an idiot reading back through them when you replied today." The silence on the other end of the phone made Stiles wince. "I just thought you would have wanted... It doesn't matter."
"Would have wanted? What did I want?" Stiles asked before he could stop himself.
"Nothing. I should go, you sound busy."
"Busy? Me? No not busy, walking on a busy street so yeah you're kind of close, but I'm not busy, couldn't find a more not busy person if you tried. Wanna go see Batman?" He did it again. Blurted out his thoughts without thinking about it. It was very, very faint, and could have just been a sound on the street or a technical malfunction, but Stiles was sure he heard a small sigh – relief?
"I don't know – I mean clearly you have a life here, you were so busy yesterday and all..." Derek didn't sound like himself, and it made Stiles a little weary. He sounded lonely.
"No I was only at the park for a few hours, you know I met Emily and she was walking around in this all black thing I felt like I was in the Adams Family or something, then I just went home and slept for fifteen hours." Another sigh greeted his words.
"Okay, Batman. I'll check times and call you. Bye." Derek hung up before Stiles could say another word, he had to check the screen of the phone to see if his cries of 'bye!' were reaching anyone, which they weren't. Slipping the phone into his pocket as he descended to his station, Stiles let out his own sigh – much louder than Derek's – thank the sweet lord he had fixed that little problem, and got Derek for another date in the process. Wait, date? Stiles slapped himself again at his own presumption, though he needn't have done, thirty seconds later he got stuck in the turnstile and smacked his head on a pole.
Forty minutes later Stiles was waiting at the cinema they had agreed to meet it, in a loose fitting grey t shirt and denim jeans, as well as Derek's hoody, which was quickly becoming his favourite item. He had changed at least ten times before he came out. White shirt, too formal. Red t-shirt, not his colour. Black t-shirt, would look too much like Derek. Ditto with the white t-shirt. By the end of his very own little fashion show in front of the floor length mirror in the living room his apartment was even messier than before, he was definitely going to have to get around to cleaning it, clean clothes were fast becoming a premium for him, just like apartment space and pavement manoeuvrability. Looking up and down the street, searching the faces of hundreds of people for Derek's, Stiles felt himself getting a little nervous, butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, and Stiles couldn't tell if he liked it or not. It was exciting, waiting for Derek, and especially with his texts, their breakfast, the looks he had given him, all of it was adding up to a huge feeling of either unbelievable apprehension or amazing excitement. As he turned left and right he began to worry that Derek might not show up. It would be a very Derek-esque thing to do, well, it would be for the Derek he used to know at least. But this new one was an alien – looked like Derek, sounded like Derek (at least in his voice – the vocabulary had definitely improved) but really was an alien who had invaded his body.
"Holy shit!" Stiles shouted, practically jumping on the balls of his feet as he felt a hand grasp his shoulder from behind. "Trust you to come from the one direction I'm not looking – asshole." Stiles smiled up at Derek, who gave his own tilt of the mouth back, looking slightly awkward.
"Sorry. Let's go." Derek began striding to the doors of the cinema, not waiting for Stiles, who was left to run behind like his little brother who Derek didn't want to be seen with.
"Wait up will you, jesus." Stiles shouted as he caught up to Derek, who was half way across the theatre, the two tickets he had bought online and printed out in his hands. As he finally reached him he extended a hand to support himself – again, not thinking – a hand which landed on Derek's leather jacket clad shoulder. Stiles could feel the heat of his body even through the white t shirt and jacket, and he couldn't help but feel turned on by it.
"Sorry." Derek's lower lip dropped just a fraction as Stiles stood there with his hand on his shoulder, panting theatrically, though he wasn't out of breath at all. The moment may have lasted fifteen seconds, then it was gone. As soon as Stiles' hand left his shoulder he felt the cool air conditioned air of the theatre once more, and the spark that was between them for those few seconds dissipated.
"Let's go see Batman kick some ass. Hey have you seen any of the trailers for this? Bane looks so awesome, and Catwoman looks pretty good too, even though Anne Hathaway's pretty annoying, well at least I think so. I mean, why is she doing this and then Les Miserables? Jesus Annie sweetheart, make up your mind on genre will you. Hopefully she can impress me."
"Sh!" A fellow patron said, pressing his finger to his lips and glaring at Stiles. Stiles rolled his eyes. "Hey you got a -" The words on the man's lips died as he saw the glare Derek was giving him, unbeknownst to Stiles, who was nosily and clumsily navigating his way through a sea of legs to two empty seats in the middle of the third row from the top.
"Pretty good seats, right, am I great or what?" Stiles said proudly as he looked at the view from his chosen spot. "Hello, am I invis-" Stiles' words died just as the man's had a few moments earlier as he looked to his right and saw an empty seat. He stood up to try and spot Derek, but he was nowhere in sight, though it was hard to see through the crowds who were flooding into the room, it was a pretty full showing.
"Hey, have you seen my friend?" Stiles asked a young kid of about fifteen, who was sat two seats away. He shook his ginger curls and hid behind his bag of popcorn. "Jesus Derek." Stiles muttered to himself, settling down to watch the boring advertisements that were on even before the real advertisements started, thinking in the back of his mind that Derek may have just gone home, but really hoping he had just needed a piss or something.
It was a good twenty minutes before Derek returned, and Stiles couldn't help but laugh when he saw him. He tried to stifle it, but he couldn't, he was strolling down their aisle with almost as much difficulty as Stiles, two huge cokes under each arm, a massive bag of popcorn in one hand, and three bags of different sweets in the other. His mouth even lifted up in one of those Derek half smiles as he saw Stiles stifled laughter, hand over his mouth.
"Who are you and what have you done with Derek?" He asked, turning to him as he settled into his seat, apologizing to the ginger kid next to him whom he had almost whacked in the face with a swinging bag of Minstrels. "Unless this is all for you – in which case it would be completely normal and selfish Derek-ish thing to do."
"Shut up. Here." Stiles threw all the sweets into Stiles lap, putting his drink into his cup holder before reaching over Stiles – his arm brushing dangerously close to Stiles crotch – and depositing his drink in a cup holder for him. Stiles didn't realise he was holding his breath until Derek's arm was clear away from Stiles. Letting out a long, low breath, puffing out his cheeks as he did, Stiles glanced across at Derek, hoping for a glance of that beautiful profile, but was greeted instead by his full face, staring at Stiles head on, with an amused expression. Stiles widened his eyes and gave an awkward, shocked smile before becoming very interested in an advert for tampons which was rolling across the screen. Was Derek bi-polar or was Stiles losing his mind? One minute he was walking away from Stiles as if he wasn't there and disappearing without saying a word, and the next he was rolling up with a handful of treats and smiling at him. From the corner of his eye Stiles could see that Derek was still looking at him, but he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of turning to him and letting his face betray his emotions again. He looked ahead with renewed resolve, waiting until his heart beat calmed down to speak again. Thank god it was dark in the theatre, so Derek couldn't see the dull blush on his face.
"I forgot to say thanks – you know, for this." Stiles turned to Derek, his heartbeat almost back to normal, though he didn't think it would ever slow from its increased pace with Derek so close to him.
"It's just sweets." Derek said as he shoved a fist full of popcorn into his mouth.
"Yeah but you know – well I love sweets, so it's kind of great. Can I have some?" He motioned to the popcorn, which was nestled between Derek's wide spread thighs. Derek just shoved more into his mouth, giving Stiles a quick nod before looking around the theatre, surveying the crowd.
"Thanks – I get to have my popcorn from your nasty crotch." Stiles laughed as he grabbed some popcorn out of the bag, resisting the urge to lay his hand on Derek's steely thigh.
"It's not nasty." A few beats. "You don't seem to mind." Derek raised his eyebrows in response, eyes narrowed, this time not out of anger or confusion, but in a private smile that didn't show on his lips, staring Stiles down till he looked away. Stiles let out another huge breath of air, mentally willing the movie to start so he could stop getting embarrassed around Derek. This was more intense than breakfast, that was for sure. Stiles hardly dared to think it, but was Derek flirting with him? As the advertisements finally finished – this time the real ones for the movies, and the opening scene began, Stiles settled back in his seat, resting both arms on the rests beside him, actually excited to see the movie, not just to be here with Derek. Though that little detail – heavy sarcasm on the word little – just made the whole thing even better. Explosions and introductions ensued, and by the time Stiles' interest started to wane he felt something hot against his arm. He didn't dare shift an inch for fear of Derek moving his arm of the rest, which they were now sharing. Clearly Derek liked popcorn, he was still shovelling it into his mouth, staring at the screen with rapt attention, eyes flickering every now and then as he followed the characters across the enormous expanse. Stiles wanted to turn his head fully, maybe even to rest it on Derek's shoulder, but of course his nerves weren't strong enough for that, he'd probably make the headlines tomorrow as the poor boy who got his head torn from his neck in the downtown New York theatre for hitting on a half-man, half-wolf.
After half an hour neither arm had moved. It wasn't like it was the absolute height of sexual charge and unspoken intimacy, in fact it may mean nothing. Stiles had done a little reconnaissance – well, as much as he could without shifting more than a few inches – and seen plenty of guys with their arms touching on the rests, people did need a place for their arms after all. Gathering his nerves, hoping Derek wouldn't move, Stiles lifted his arm off Derek's, shivering involuntarily as the warmth of his supernaturally heated blood left his arm, and reached for his coke. Sucking up a huge amount through the straw, till his thirst was quenched, Stiles replaced his arm as if he wasn't waiting for Derek to move his own, and settled back, his eyes on the screen, his heartbeat slowed. Derek didn't even flinch, or seemingly notice. His arm stayed exactly where it was, hand slightly askew as it held the popcorn towards him, other hand – which had the ginger boys half of the rest all to itself – transporting popcorn to his mouth. As the movie reached it's hour and a half mark Stiles' eyes began to droop. He never was very good at staying awake through such long movies, and the theatre was just so warm, and dark, and comfortable. Or was that Derek? Tall, dark, handsome... warm, comfortable. As Stiles' eyelids drooped further and further he felt a pressure on his hand, which had previously been laying lifeless at the end of the arm rest. His eyes jolted open, and he had to resist the urge – he had been doing a lot of resisting lately – to lean over and throw himself onto Derek. Derek's fingers were snaking through Stiles', till they all interlocked, his empty popcorn bag discarded onto the theatre floor along with all the other trash. Derek's hand squeezed Stiles', which was still pretty lifeless, almost as if his brain couldn't comprehend what Derek was doing, but when Stiles looked to him for an explanation, this time turning his head fully, actually wanting Derek's attention, he was met only with his profile, staring stoically ahead. Although he couldn't explain why Derek was gripping his hand so nicely, his own hand finally found life as he realised he couldn't let this opportunity go to waste. Letting out the breath he had been unaware he was holding in, his fingers squeezed Derek's back. He felt the tension which he hadn't even noticed Derek's arm was suffering from release as soon as Stiles returned that squeeze, and as his eyes drooped he realised that maybe he had been right about Derek after all.