a/n: So. Back at it again. I've decided to put "I said, "Hey What's Going On" on the back burner for now. I apologize to those who were excited for an update. But yesterday a few friends mentioned the fic I started a few years ago about surfer stiles and his brother. And it just wouldn't leave my head. Back then I didn't have a solid outline to work with but I have dotted notes here and there over the years, and I know where I want to take this story. So I decided to dust off and rewrite most of it, and this is the product of that rewrite. If you liked what you read leave me a comment! Let me know how you liked it! And hopefully, you all enjoyed it!
I present to you: Growing Up.
/
Stiles lies sprawled on his bed, his gaze fixed upon the monotonous rotation of the ceiling fan. Each blade becomes a blurry streak in his weary eyes, as if mocking his sleep-deprived state.
He sighs, frustration knotting in his chest, blaming the relentless insomnia that has plagued him throughout the night.
The gentle patter of raindrops against the windowpane serves as a melancholic soundtrack, a constant reminder of the sleep he craves but cannot attain.
California, titled the land of sun-kissed brilliance, now appears dreary and colorless through Stiles' window.
His brows knit together in perplexity, wondering when the vibrant hues that used to grace the horizon will return.
Ever since their recent move, the rain has been an unwelcome companion, refusing to yield to the vibrant blue skies he had grown accustomed to. A sigh escapes his lips, heavy with the weariness of frequent relocations.
This year alone, they have moved five times, and though his father, John, promises that this will be their last move, Stiles can't help but doubt the words.
He musters a smile, nodding in feigned understanding, hiding the weariness that gnaws at his soul.
Deep down, he comprehends the reasons behind the constant uprooting—his father's work demands. Yet, the weariness persists, a weariness that permeates his bones.
Just as exhaustion begins to lull him into surrender, a soft sound reaches his ears, stirring him from the edge of slumber. His gaze drifts to the adjacent bed, where his older brother, Zach, lies sprawled in blissful oblivion.
The sight of Zach's peaceful face brings a tender smile to Stiles' lips as he watches his brother shift, muttering unintelligible words and unknowingly kicking off the tangled sheets.
While Stiles and Zach bear a resemblance, distinct differences set them apart. Zach possesses a muscular build, slightly taller than Stiles, lacking the smattering of moles that adorns Stiles' face. Instead, a prominent scar traces its path across Zach's lip, adding character to his features. Moreover, their skin tones diverge, Zach boasting a warm honey tan that contrasts with Stiles' paler complexion. The disparity extends to their hairstyles, Zach sporting a fauxhawk while Stiles maintains a buzz-cut.
With a slow exhalation, Stiles redirects his attention to the bright blue neon digits displayed on his nightstand clock.
The numbers glare back at him: 5:55 a.m.
Resigned to the wakefulness that refuses to loosen its grip, he decides it's futile to remain in bed any longer.
He rises, his movements languid and lackadaisical, making his way to the cardboard box labeled "Stiles' stuff. Don't touch."
Any misplaced belongings of Zach's that ended up in his domain meet an untimely demise—either burned or shredded. Stiles smirks, satisfied with his peculiar territoriality.
Attired in faded jeans, a favorite graphic tee, and a dark purple hoodie slung over his shoulder, Stiles strides out of his room and navigates towards the kitchen.
His expectation of solitude dissipates upon entering the room, finding his dad already seated at the table, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
John glances up from his newspaper, his eyes lighting up with affectionate warmth.
"Morning, Stiles. You're up early," John greets, his voice filled with genuine care.
He pauses, absorbing the sight of his dad—John Stilinski, the loving pillar of their family, their hero who had single-handedly raised the both of them. Stiles remains in awe of his father's strength, a strength that allowed him to reveal the truth: their mother would never return.
The details of her departure started shrouded in mystery, their dad had simply stated that they would understand in time.
And they did, as the bitter truth unfolded when Stiles turned eleven and Zach twelve— their mother had succumbed to frontotemporal dementia at an early age.
"Stiles?" John's concerned tone draws Stiles back from the depths of his reverie, and he realizes he has been lost in his thoughts.
He observes the worry etching lines on his dad's face, prompting him to shake off the lingering shadows.
He mentally chides himself, offering a reassuring smile to allay his dad's concerns.
"Yeah, I just...couldn't sleep anymore, you know?" Stiles replies, his words carrying an air of nonchalance, though beneath the surface, a torrent of emotions swirls. His father's watchful gaze lingers, as if detecting a glimmer of unease within his son's eyes. Stiles recognizes the unspoken invitation to share his burdens, a testament to the bond they share.
"I see..." John responds, his voice tinged with understanding. He remains unconvinced, sensing a deeper truth behind Stiles' words. "Well, do you want some breakfast?"
"Nah, I'm good. I actually gonna go take a shower," Stiles deflects, gesturing to the clothes draped over his shoulder.
A frown creases his father's brow, his worry unyielding.
"Are you okay, Stiles?" John's voice carries genuine concern, his eyes searching for the hidden truths his son might be withholding.
Stiles inhales deeply, grappling with the choice between vulnerability and maintaining his father's peace of mind.
"You know, Dad," Stiles begins, surrendering to the weight on his chest. "I'm just nervous, you know? About everything."
The honesty in his voice resonates, an admission of the apprehensions that threaten to engulf him.
John's expression softens, a tender smile lighting up his features as he rises from his seat and crosses the room towards Stiles. His hand descends upon Stiles' shoulder, radiating warmth and reassurance. "You'll be fine, Mieczysław. I did promise you that this was going to be our last move, right?"
Stiles feels the weight of his dad's conviction in those words, a flicker of hope stirring within him. His father rarely uses his real name unless he's serious about something.
Maybe, just maybe, this time his dad is telling the truth.
A small smile tugs at the corners of Stiles' lips as he nods in response. He heads towards the bathroom, thoughts swirling in his mind. Moving from city to city has its perks—new places, new people—but he's grown weary of trying to maintain old friendships and forge new ones.
The constant cycle of saying goodbye and starting over has taken its toll.
As he steps into the small bathroom, Stiles quickly sheds his clothes and steps under the cascading water. The chill of the cold stream greets his pale skin, awakening his senses. Moments later, the door creaks open, accompanied by a gruff grunt.
"Morning, bro," Zach's groggy voice reaches Stiles' ears.
"Morning, Zach," Stiles replies, his fingers working shampoo into his hair.
Zach emits a contented noise, causing Stiles to cringe.
The need for another bathroom becomes apparent as the two of them navigate their morning routines, often overlapping in this cramped space. Stiles finishes his shower, locks the door, and proceeds to dry off and get dressed.
Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, Stiles takes a deep breath, seeking solace in self-assurance. "It's just a new school. No one knows, no need to freak out. Zach always has my back. If anyone gives me shit, all I have to do is get Zach. He'll beat the crap out of them," he mutters, repeating the mantra to himself.
He runs his hand through his short hair, a nervous habit that offers little comfort.
With a sigh, Stiles opens the door and is promptly met with a forceful collision as Zach barrels into him. Stiles stumbles backward but manages to regain his balance, saved by Zach's firm grip on his wrist.
"Shit," Stiles breathes out, his eyes meeting Zach's concerned gaze. Beneath the veil of sleepiness, Stiles recognizes his brother's unwavering commitment to protecting him.
"Shit, Stiles, you okay?" Zach asks, his voice laden with sleep, releasing his grip on Stiles' wrist slowly.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Stiles replies, stepping aside with a mock bow. "All yours."
Zach yawns heavily, his hand ruffling Stiles' hair before he heads into the bathroom and closes the door. Stiles playfully swats Zach's hand away, flashing him a bright smile.
"I'm really tired of moving, Stiles," Zach's voice echoes through the door, his weariness palpable.
Stiles chuckles softly, acknowledging the shared sentiment that binds them amidst the turmoil of constant relocation. He runs his hand through his hair once more and makes his way back to the kitchen.
"Made you some breakfast," John informs him as he settles at the table.
A plate of scrambled eggs is placed before Stiles, accompanied by a glass of orange juice. Stiles stares at the spread, momentarily transfixed, before glancing up to find his dad's arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line.
"I'm not hearing it, Stiles; you're eating something before you leave for school," John asserts.
Stiles chuckles softly, gratitude lacing his words. "Thanks, Dad."
He takes a sip of his juice, savoring the tangy sweetness, before diving into his eggs.
His dad's culinary skills have improved over time, a fact Stiles acknowledges with amusement.
There was a period when finding eggshells in his breakfast was a common occurrence, but Stiles never had the heart to tell his dad.
The thought of shattering his father's pride outweighed the inconvenience of the occasional crunch.
"Whoa, slow down, Stiles," John laughs, glancing at his watch. A subtle sigh escapes his lips, drawing Stiles' attention. "I'm off. You and Zach have fun at your new school. And please tell your brother. No fighting."
"Mmnf," Stiles nods fervently, waving goodbye to his dad.
Promises are made in the moment, but the future holds uncertainty.
If anyone dares to picks on Stiles, he can't be held accountable for the wrath his brother, Zach, will unleash.
And deep down, Stiles knows his dad secretly revels in his brother's protective instincts, despite the contradictory admonitions.
Finishing the rest of his breakfast, Stiles eyes Zach's plate, a mischievous thought flickering in his mind. "Damn, why does he always get bacon and I don't?" he murmurs, leaning over and swiftly spearing three strips of bacon with his fork. He devours them quickly, ensuring no trace of his thievery remains by the time Zach finishes his shower.
"Did Dad leave already?" Zach asks, approaching Stiles with damp hair.
"Yeah, he left not too long ago," Stiles replies, observing Zach settle down at the table with a heavy plop.
Zach hums in response, delving into his breakfast.
Stiles watches him with a mock expression of disgust, skillfully dodging the bacon bits Zach playfully tosses his way.
"You'll be okay, Mieczysław," Zach's voice carries a comforting reassurance as he chews his final strip of bacon.
Stiles meets his brother's gaze, their eyes connecting in a wordless understanding. A fond smile curves his lips. "Yeah, I know... but can we please stop using my full name?" Stiles affirms, swallowing hard. "I'll wait for you out on the porch."
Downing the remaining orange juice in a single gulp, Stiles rises from his seat, gathering his dirty plate and cup, depositing them in the sink for later. He retrieves his backpack and steps out onto the porch.
"Huh," Stiles remarks, his gaze directed towards the sky. "It's stopped raining."
The rain must have subsided during his shower and breakfast. Puddles and small pools of water dot the walkway, remnants of the storm's passing.
"I thought it wasn't supposed to rain in Cali," he sighs, his eyes fixated on the lingering gray skies.
"It rains everywhere, Stiles, just not as much here," Zach offers, joining him on the porch and locking the door behind them.
"Right," Stiles replies, stealing a quick glance at his brother. The shirt clings to Zach's well-defined chest, an unfair display of genetics.
Stiles can't help but feel a pang of envy, even after six months of working out with Zach, yielding little physical transformation.
How is that fair?
Shaking off the thought, Stiles turns his attention back to the puddles, a tinge of resentment coloring his expression. "Ready to go, little bro?"
A ball of nervousness plummets into his stomach, churning and twisting his insides.
Each breath becomes a shallow gasp, stolen by the anxiety gripping his chest. Stiles, standing on the precipice of a new beginning, channels the techniques his dad taught them.
He inhales deeply, drawing in the crisp morning air, and exhales slowly, attempting to calm the tumultuous waves crashing within him.
He nods, though the uncertainty lingers, shadowing his every move. "I guess so," he whispers, his voice a mere wisp of sound, barely audible.
Zach, the ever-reliable pillar of strength, offers a tender smile that washes over Stiles like a gentle breeze on a warm summer's day. His arm snakes around Stiles' shoulder, drawing him close, the familiar gesture radiating love and reassurance. Stiles finds solace in the embrace, his body relaxing against his brother's comforting presence.
In that moment, Stiles feels the weight of his anxieties lift, dissolving into the ether. The ball of nerves unravels, replaced by a renewed sense of courage.
He gazes at Zach, gratitude mingling with admiration.
Best bro ever, he thinks, his heart brimming with affection.
"Don't be nervous, Stiles," Zach asserts, his voice brimming with confidence, as they traverse the puddled walkway. Their footsteps echo, splashes of water dancing beneath their shoes. "You'll be fine, and if anyone gives you shit, they'll have to answer to me."
Stiles lets out a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a symphony of joy.
The memory of that fateful encounter in Arizona resurfaces, the one where Zach defended his honor against a misguided soul who dared to call him a fairy. Stiles knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that no one would ever make that mistake again.
"Yeah, just like that," Stiles replies, his laughter intermingling with Zach's as it cascades into the air.
With their laughter still lingering, Zach leads the way towards his prized possession, a gleaming 2008 Onyx Ford Mustang.
Stiles marvels at the sleek lines and polished exterior, a beacon of power and elegance.
He can't help but think of the disparities between their birthdays, the contrast between Zach's extravagant gift and his own meager offering.
Cons of having Zach as your brother, Stiles muses, a tinge of envy weaving through his thoughts.
The man gets a sports car for his seventeenth birthday.
And what did Stiles get for his sixteenth birthday?
A fucking shirt.
A really nice shirt, but that's not the point.
Yet, amidst the unevenness, there's a glimmer of hope. His dad, John Stilinski, made a promise—a promise of a car on his eighteenth birthday. Stiles clings to that pledge, a beacon of possibility, knowing deep in his heart that his father won't renege on his word.
The younger teen nods, a resolute determination settling over him as he slides into the passenger seat.
They buckle up, the click of the seatbelts blending with the pulsating beat of the music flooding the car. The engine roars to life, a symphony of power vibrating through their bodies as they speed off the driveway.
As the world outside blurs into a kaleidoscope of street signs, houses, and passing cars, Stiles fights to steady his breathing.
His gaze darts from one fleeting sight to another, the vibrant tapestry of a new chapter unfolding before him.
The anticipation swells within his chest, a blend of excitement and trepidation, as they race towards their new school—a realm of possibilities awaiting their arrival.
/
Unease coils within Stiles, his eyes widening as he scans the packed gymnasium.
A nervous energy crackles in the air, and he fights the impulse to reach out and grasp Zach's hand for support.
He used to do it when they were younger, seeking comfort and reassurance.
And right now, he desperately wants to revert to that old habit.
Zach, always attuned to his emotions, senses Stiles' inner turmoil. He offers a comforting pat on the shoulder, his voice a soft murmur in Stiles' ear. "Want to hold my hand, Mieczysław ?"
The audacity of the request and use of his full name again catches Stiles off guard, and he bats Zach's hand away with a playful scoff.
"Guess we have to sit with our specific grade," Zach comments, his gaze drifting toward the banners that proudly display the numbered grades. His eyes return to Stiles, observing his brother's pallid complexion. "You think you're going to be okay?"
"Uh... I think so," Stiles replies, mustering a feeble lie.
Deep down, he knows he's far from okay.
The weight of apprehension sits heavy on his chest, threatening to suffocate him. But Zach's reassuring smile, a light of support, offers a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty.
With a final glance in Stiles' direction, Zach jogs off to join the seniors, leaving his brother to face the daunting realm of juniors alone.
Stiles swallows hard, his resolve wavering for a moment. "I can do this," he mutters, attempting to convince himself.
With hesitant steps, Stiles ascends the bleacher's steps, feeling the subtle tremor beneath his feet.
He settles beside a girl, her brunette locks cascading around her as she plugs in her earphones. Engrossed in her own world, she remains oblivious to Stiles' presence. Relief washes over him, thankful for the distraction that shields him from potential awkwardness.
Introductions hover at the tip of his tongue, but Stiles hesitates.
The girl's detachment offers respite from the pressure of first impressions.
He knows he tends to ramble, and in this moment, he's grateful that she pays him no mind.
Making a wrong impression is the last thing he wants.
Suddenly, a poised female voice pierces the air, commanding the attention of the student body. Stiles' gaze lowers to the center of the gymnasium, where a black-haired woman in a striking red business suit stands before the microphone. Valeria Burnwood, the Vice Principal, takes the stage, her presence demanding respect.
"My name is Valeria Burnwood; I'm your Vice Principal here," she declares, her voice ringing out with authority. Amidst the crowd, a few wolf whistles arise, quickly silenced by her stern expression. "For those who are new here or for those who need a little reminder, I give this speech once and once only!"
As Ms. Burnwood delves into topics of dress code, discipline, and other mundane matters, Stiles struggles to maintain his focus.
Thoughts drift, his mind wandering in the midst of the Vice Principal's monologue. The weight of boredom settles upon him, constricting his lungs and stifling his breath. Hot air escapes his lips in a sigh as he turns his attention to his schedule, studying the school map imprinted on its back.
A tingling sensation dances along his spine, causing Stiles to flinch. "Fuck," he mutters, the realization striking him like a bolt of lightning.
This school is three stories high—a revelation that sends a wave of uncertainty crashing over him. In the past, he attended schools of modest size, typically consisting of a single story or, at most, two buildings.
But never three.
Okay, maybe he isn't as prepared for his new school as he thought he was.
"They didn't renovate the school, you know. It's still the same," a friendly voice chimes in, causing Stiles to jump. His heart skips a beat as he registers the unexpected presence.
No, he definitely did not yelp.
Definitely not.
Glancing to his right, Stiles locks eyes with the girl he previously disregarded, her sheepish expression tinged with a rosy blush.
At least she seems embarrassed on his behalf, sparing him some dignity.
It takes a moment for Stiles to collect himself, his initial surprise dissipating. He stammers out a response, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Well... I'm kind of new here..." His words falter, and he wishes for the ground to swallow him whole.
Admitting his status as the new kid to someone he initially ignored feels incredibly awkward.
The girl, laughs, the sound lighthearted and melodic. She flips her hair over her shoulders. "My name's Allison Argent. What's yours?"
"Stiles. Stiles Stilinski," he answers, mustering a smile laced with the charm that Zach fondly calls 'Stilinski Men Charm.'
"Well, Stiles, nice to meet you," Allison responds, returning his smile.
In that moment, Stiles feels a glimmer of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, he's made his first friend in California.
"Likewise," Stiles replies, his gaze drifting toward the senior section of the bleachers. Groaning inwardly, he spots Zach engaged in lively conversation with a group of seniors.
The unfairness of it all stings.
He's barely made one friend, and Zach has already won over the entire senior class.
Not cool.
"So," Allison drawls, sliding her earphones around her neck and following Stiles' gaze, "See anyone interesting yet?"
Stiles quickly averts his gaze, turning his attention back to Allison. "Besides you? No."
"Well, if you see anyone, point them out, and I'll see if I know a thing or two about them."
"Okay. Thanks, Allison," Stiles grins, feeling a surge of optimism.
He can sense it—Allison and him, they're going to be bros.
Or best friends.
Whichever term applies, that's what they'll be.
"No problem, Stiles," Allison responds sweetly, her smile radiating warmth.
"Okay! That's all!" Ms. Burnwood announces, her voice amplified over the microphone. "Enjoy your new school year and get to class!"
Groans and expletives permeate the air as the student body disperses. Stiles wears a knowing smile, for his first period happens to be gym class. No need to navigate the labyrinth of hallways just yet.
However, he notices that Allison remains seated beside him, showing no signs of movement. Curiosity piqued, he inquires, "You have gym too?"
"Yeah..." Allison's voice lacks enthusiasm, hinting at her distaste for the subject. "Not really the athletic type, unless it's for the archery club, but Mr. Finstock makes us do some crazy stuff."
"Crazy... stuff?" Stiles raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious now.
"Yeah, you don't even want to know."
Oh, but he does.
"Likeee?" Stiles drawls, fluttering his eyelashes playfully.
"You'll see," Allison replies, rising from her seat. "Come on, I'll show you to the locker rooms."
As they reach the bottom step, a floppy-haired brunette intercepts their path, chest heaving as he retrieves an inhaler from his pocket.
He glances up, his puppy-dog eyes fixated on Allison, and flashes her a wide smile.
The level of cuteness is nearly overwhelming.
Stiles is on the verge of cooing, but before he can, Allison shuts the boy down with an icy tone. "Get lost, Scott."
"Ouch. Why do you hate me so much?" Scott laughs bitterly, his smile unwavering. He then acknowledges Stiles with a nod. "Who's the new kid?"
"His name is Stiles," Allison informs Scott, turning to Stiles and gesturing dismissively at Scott. "And this is Scott McCall. I would ignore him if I were you. He likes to think he's cool."
Stiles chuckles softly, noticing Scott's scowl directed at both him and Allison. "Don't hang around Allison, or you'll get dragged into her clique!" Scott warns Stiles, his tone a mix of jest and sincerity.
"See?" Allison sighs, shaking her head as she grabs hold of Stiles' hand, leading them away from the floppy-haired teen and toward the locker rooms.
"I think he likes you," Stiles smirks, having observed Scott's unmistakable infatuation with Allison—the puppy eyes, the bright smile, and the way he initially ignored Stiles completely.
Dick.
But anyway, it starts off just like one of those cheesy rom-coms Stiles loves to watch, with the occasional Zach joining in for good measure.
Boy wants girl.
Girl hates boy's guts and plays hard to get.
Cue the laughter and hijinks, and eventually, boy gets the girl.
"Yeah, no. I think he likes to annoy me," Allison replies, but there's a subtle twinkle in her eyes that Stiles catches. She's trying to suppress a smile, and he can see right through it.
The smell that hits Stiles as he enters the locker rooms is nothing short of repulsive. It's like a pungent mixture of decay and despair, as if someone had met their unfortunate end right in there.
Well, at least the boys' locker room—Stiles has no clue what the girls' locker room smells like, but he imagines it must be something like sunshineand rainbows.
Allison points towards a glassed-in office adjacent to the locker rooms.
Inside, three teachers engage in a lively conversation, their voices echoing through the space.
"Be ready before those three leave their office or suffer hell," she warns Stiles with a half-smirk.
He nods, bidding Allison a brief farewell, and heads into the boys' locker room.
Scott, being his usual self, Stiles thinks, is busy regaling the others with crude jokes, but he pays little attention.
He changes quickly, not bothering to eavesdrop on the conversation unfolding around him.
As Stiles steps out into the gymnasium, his gaze immediately falls upon Allison and a few other students already gathered on the bleachers. A mischievous smile tugs at his lips as he approaches her.
"Scott being an idiot and telling his sex jokes again, right?" Allison asks, half-amused.
"So, Scott could have been heard in the girls' locker room?" Stiles asks, his curiosity getting the best of him.
She affirms his suspicion with a nod.
"I think he was. I wasn't really paying much attention to him, though," Stiles confesses, observing the pleased expression that lights up Allison's face.
The girl looks genuinely delighted. "Ah! Finally! Someone with common sense and maturity!" Allison exclaims, raising her hands in a mock gesture of praise towards the heavens.
Stiles can't help but feel a sense of validation, grateful to have found a friend who appreciates his level-headedness.
He almost lets slip that he's not particularly interested in girls in that way, but he bites his tongue.
He remembers how Zach had gotten into fights defending him at his previous schools, and he's decided to keep this aspect of himself a secret in California, so Zach doesn't have to fight again.
Even, if, you know, the state is hella progressive.
More students start streaming out of the locker rooms, flooding into the gym. Allison sighs heavily, the sound filled with weariness, and begins making her way towards the bleachers. Stiles falls into step beside her, their camaraderie palpable.
"So, are you athletic?" she inquires, her gaze scanning his lanky frame.
Stiles grins and shrugs. "Yeah, I play lacrosse. Well, sometimes, but I still play. And I surf. And what about you? I'm guessing the coaches make you do crazy stuff, right?"
"Besides Archery Club?" Allison scrunches her nose, her expression both amusing and endearing. Then, she flashes him a toothy smile. "I consider myself more of a sidelines kind of person. But hey, it's nice to know you're active on something."
Stiles chuckles and shakes his head.
Allison is already proving to be a great friend, and he couldn't be happier about it.
Well, there's also Scott, but he still doesn't quite understand why Allison warned him to be cautious around him.
The rain intensifies outside, prompting the class to relocate to the shelter of the gym.
Some students engage in a spirited game of volleyball, while others run back and forth, expending their excess energy.
As Stiles takes in the lively scene, Scott appears, smirking at Allison as he joins them. The puppy eyes are back in full force, and Stiles can't help but roll his eyes internally.
"Hey, Allison. What's new?" Scott quips, his gaze fixated on her.
"How about... oh, I don't know. Go away," Allison retorts, her tone laced with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. She glances at Stiles, a warning hidden in her eyes. "Stay away from him. Got that?"
Scott frowns, his attention now shifting to Stiles. "Hey! Want to play a little game of soccer with me and the guys?"
And damn it, Scott is using those darn puppy eyes on him. Stiles inwardly curses his weakness.
"Well..." Stiles trails off, contemplating how to resist the magnetic pull of puppy-eyed persuasion.
He glances over at Allison, who nods in approval. "Sure, let's play!"
Scott's face lights up with delight, and he claps Stiles on the shoulder. "All right! You're on my team, Stiles," he announces before rushing off to inform his friends of the new addition to their squad.
"Yep. He likes you," Stiles remarks with a smug grin, standing up from the bleachers. "We should adopt him."
"He definitely likes to annoy me. And only if you're in charge of feeding and walking him," Allison replies, her words laced with fondness rather than annoyance. She smiles at Stiles, thrusting her chin towards the group of impatient teens. "I think they're waiting for you. Now go, I'll cheer you on from here."
Stiles nods, a surge of excitement coursing through him, and dashes away toward Scott and his friends, ready to embrace the challenge of the game.
/
By the time lunchtime arrives, Stiles finds himself surprisingly content with his new school. While Allison is his only acquaintance from his first period, he hasn't managed to make any additional friends thus far.
However, his teachers have been pleasant, at least.
So there is that.
A low growl rumbles from Stiles' stomach, reminding him that it's time for grub.
As he strolls toward the cafeteria, he briefly ponders how Zach's day is going. Knowing his brother's charm and charisma, Zach is likely already the "cool" guy of the senior class, effortlessly gathering the popular crowd's attention and even attempting to score some romantic interests.
And true to form, Stiles isn't surprised to see Zach seated at a table surrounded by seniors and a few juniors.
There's an air of admiration surrounding his brother, and at times, Stiles can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy toward Zach's natural ability to make friends so effortlessly.
Zach catches sight of Stiles approaching, and his face instantly lights up like a Christmas tree. "There's my little bro!" Zach gestures for him to come closer, a bright smile adorning his lips.
Rolling his eyes playfully, Stiles obeys and makes his way over to Zach. His brother introduces him to everyone at the table, some offering greetings while others simply stare, seemingly comparing him to Zach. Stiles overhears one of them mutter, "Is that twig really his brother?"
Amused by the comment, Stiles fights back laughter when he witnesses Zach's glare causing the guy to snap his mouth shut.
Best brother ever.
Returning the greetings of those who introduced themselves, Stiles returns the stares of those who were scrutinizing him. His gaze remains unwavering as he silently challenges them.
Bring it bitch.
"So, how do you like it here?" Zach inquires, extricating himself from the embrace of one of the girls seated next to him. His tone shifts from buoyant to serious in an instant. "No one's giving you any trouble, right?"
As tempting as it is to mention the guy who called him a twig, Stiles shakes his head. "No, no trouble at all. Actually, I think I like it here."
Zach hums thoughtfully before breaking into a smile a few seconds later. "Good. You have lunch money, right?" He retrieves his wallet and hands Stiles a $10 bill.
"I do, Zach," Stiles affirms, handing the bill back and observing as Zach deftly tucks it back into his wallet and stashes it in his back pocket.
"Oh, okay. Then enjoy your lunch, bro." Zach turns back to the table, resuming the conversation, leaving Stiles feeling a little out of place.
Oh.
Oh, ok.
Wow.
Much brotherly love.
Not that Stiles is contemplating retaliating by switching the contents of Zach's protein shakes with powdered chili.
That would be unbrotherly, right?
Well, maybe just a little.
Sighing to himself, Stiles pivots on his heels and heads toward the lunch line, only to be interrupted by a hand that suddenly snatches his wrist.
And boy, does this person have a killer grip. Hello there.
"That's your brother?" the person asks, and Stiles does a double take. The voice is unexpectedly sweet, not what he'd expect from someone who just ambushed a lanky guy.
He spins around, finding himself face-to-face with a smiling Allison. Instantly, his expression softens. "Yeah."
"Older?" Allison inquires, her gaze fixed on Zach, who is engaged in some flirtatious banter with the girl across from him, her eyes filled with calculation.
"Mhmm."
"You hungry?"
Ah, a trick question, no doubt. Stiles nods.
"Well, you can't eat here. Come on."
Allison loosens her grip slightly, taking his hand and leading him toward the double doors. She points toward the strip mall across from the school. "There's a place over there that serves the best pizza, fries, and all the other good stuff."
Stiles nods, allowing Allison to guide him across the street. In this moment, he realizes he knows next to nothing about Allison. All he knows is that she's awesome and possesses a vice-like grip that could numb his hand. In Stiles' secret thoughts, she's practically Wonder Woman.
Seriously, that grip—his hand still tingles.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters, Allison?" Stiles asks, hoping to engage in some small talk and learn more about her.
"Nope."
And damn, Allison's reply came faster than lightning.
The place she mentioned turns out to be a bustling fast food and takeout joint, teeming with high school and college students, as well as a few regulars, engaged in lively conversations with the guy behind the register.
"Hey, Allison," one of the cooks greets her, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"Hey, Oscar," Allison responds with a small grin of her own. "Give me a large slice of cheese pizza, please." She then turns to Stiles. "What do you want, Stiles?"
"Uh, good question," he mutters, his eyes scanning the menu options. "I'll have the medium fries."
Just as he reaches for his wallet to pay for his lunch like a proper gentleman, Allison's hand—deadly as ever—swats his wallet to the floor.
Stiles shoots her a critical look, like he cannot believe what she just did, before bending down to retrieve it.
"Lunch is on me today," Allison declares, her smile unapologetic.
He gazes at her a moment longer, feeling the corners of his lips gradually curling upward. "Thanks."
"No prob."
Oscar prepares their order, and Allison, who has now solidified her place as Stiles' third favorite person in the world, takes care of the bill.
"See you around, Allison," Oscar waves at her.
"See you, O."
With their food in hand, Allison hands Stiles his lunch as they exit the restaurant.
The walk back to the school is accompanied by a comfortable silence. Once inside the gym, they settle down and enjoy their meal together, engaging in small talk about the things they have in common.
/
After lunch, the remainder of the day seems to zoom by in a blur. Stiles makes his way to his assigned locker, absentmindedly shoving his books inside without giving them a second thought. Homework isn't on his agenda anyway.
His mind begins to reflect on his first day at the new school, and to his surprise, it wasn't half bad.
Sure, it got a little dull towards the end, but overall, not a bad experience at all. With a resounding slam, Stiles shuts his locker and steps out into the parking lot.
As he takes his first stride through the double doors, his attention is immediately captured by the sight of an open canvas sky. Not a single rain cloud in sight, only the radiant sun shining brightly above.
"Hey bro!" Zach's all-too-familiar voice cuts through the swarm of students pouring out of the doors.
Stiles waves back and shouts, "Hey!"
He winces slightly as he watches Zach playfully tackle a couple of freshmen out of the way, unable to contain his amusement when he witnesses his brother accidentally helping the girl he tackled down into a small puddle shortly after, apologizing profusely.
"No homework?" Zach's words are the first to break the silence as he unlocks his car and slides in.
"Nope," Stiles replies, beaming at his brother, who responds with a comical expression.
"Lucky, I only have math." Zach pouts and glances over at Stiles. "Buckle up, Shorty."
"Sir!" Stiles salutes playfully, doing as he's told. Zach chuckles.
"So, did you meet anyone today?" Stiles detects the curiosity in Zach's voice as his brother pulls out of the school's parking lot and accelerates away.
"Yes, actually," Stiles nods. "I met a really nice girl named Allison."
"That's great, bro." Zach's eyes remain fixed on the road, but Stiles can sense the swelling pride in his brother, proud of him for making at least one friend on his first day.
"And I suppose you've befriended the entire school?" Stiles already knows the answer, but he asks anyway.
Zach laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, only a few."
"Only a few?" Stiles repeats, his voice filled with amusement.
"Okay, fine, maybe half the senior class," Zach adds a moment later, looking sheepish.
And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the ever-classy Zachariasz Stilinski, the friend-making machine of the century.
The drive continues in a peaceful silence, occasionally interrupted by Stiles bursting into random songs and forcing Zach to join in so he wouldn't feel silly singing alone.
"You know," Zach begins once they finish singing "Feel Good Inc." by Gorillaz, "I'm surprised I still remember the way home. I was afraid I might have forgotten this morning, but I'm glad I haven't."
"That's... good, Zach. Good job," Stiles chuckles, feeling somewhat relieved that his brother remembers where they live.
He certainly doesn't want Stiles spiraling into a panic attack now, does he?
Right?
Right?
After another ten minutes of driving, Zach pulls into the driveway of their new home. He looks to his right and flashes a smile.
"We should go surfing, Stiles," he suggests, turning to face Stiles with bright eyes and a pleading smile.
Stiles cranes his neck and gazes off into the distance through the window.
The beach lies just within reach, its waters shimmering with the promise of exhilarating waves.
"I'm up for it," Stiles declares, grinning back at his brother, the sight of the ocean reigniting his excitement.
It's been a while since they last went surfing.
After all, the last three cities they lived in were nowhere near the ocean.
Surfing, for them, is more than just a casual pastime or bonding activity.
It's Stiles' favorite hobby, a way to unwind after a long day.
"Alright, Stiles. Let's go!" Zach declares, enthusiasm brimming in his voice.
/
After checking to ensure their surfboards had survived the journey unscathed, the Stilinski brothers head inside to change. They rummage through each box of clothes, sifting through the contents until they finally locate their surf gear.
Both of them make a point to have a quick snack, striking a balance between something substantial enough to sustain them during their time in the water, yet not too heavy.
They change into their surf attire, grab their boards, gather their gear, and make their way outside, ready to secure the boards atop Zach's car.
"Small house, but a nice beach just around the corner," Zach remarks with a smile as he tightly fastens the ropes.
Stiles carefully surveys the modest house, nodding in agreement.
Their new home may not be as spacious as their previous one in Seattle, but it exudes a cozy and welcoming atmosphere.
"Oh, by the way, Stiles," Zach grunts as he tugs on the ropes, ensuring the boards are securely fastened and won't cause a major accident.
Stiles raises a hand, trying to stifle the laughter that threatens to escape his lips as he watches Zach climb onto the roof of the Mustang.
It happened once before, back in Florida earlier this year.
Zach had forgotten to properly secure the boards, and as soon as they hit the highway, the boards had come loose, causing several cars to swerve out of the way.
Fortunately, no one was injured. Stiles knows he shouldn't find amusement in the incident, but the look of sheer panic Zach's face when he saw the cars swerving was simply priceless.
Still, the important thing is that no one got hurt.
That's all that matters.
"Were you even listening to me?" Zach asks, jumping down from the roof and landing with a soft thud.
"Hmm? What?" Stiles replies, his attention momentarily elsewhere.
Zach rolls his eyes, and Stiles swears his brother's eyes are in danger of rolling right out of their sockets.
"I said, I hope you don't mind that some of the varsity football guys will be at the beach. I just received a last-minute text," Zach explains.
This is yet another instance where Stiles admires his brother's knack for effortlessly making friends.
Though Zach can be shy, annoying, and a babbling machine at times, there are qualities about him that Stiles aspires to emulate.
Well, maybe not the muscles part, since Stiles has tried and that hasn't quite worked out.
But Zach's ability to forge friendships effortlessly is at the top of Stiles' current list.
"Yeah, okay, that sounds fine," Stiles responds, his voice slightly small. The sudden change of plans leaves him feeling a bit uneasy. In his previous high school, it was mostly the football players who gave him a hard time because of his sexuality.
He's even certain that one of them had flirted with him, only to use it as ammunition for bullying.
But Stiles doesn't care about that anymore.
That's all in the past.
Zach's voice snaps him out of his thoughts, urging him to get in the car.
Stiles blinks and quickly slides into the seat.
"It'll be fine," Zach reassures him, his eyes focused on the road ahead before turning to look at Stiles. His piercing gray eyes meet Stiles', conveying a deep sense of trust. Zach places a reassuring hand on Stiles' shoulder, accompanied by his trademark comforting smile.
"Stiles, you know I always have your back. Always will. Trust me on this one, okay?"
"Yeah, I got you," Stiles responds, still not entirely convinced. But hey, this is California, and things will be different here. So far, the Golden State has been treating him well.
"Care to tell me about the guys we're meeting?" Stiles asks casually as Zach pulls out of the driveway.
He hopes his nervousness doesn't betray him in his voice.
"Well, we're meeting two of them, Derek and Jordan. Derek is built like me, real quiet and contemplative, but a nice guy once you get him talking. Jordan is a bit smaller, but just as muscular as Derek, a little ball of energy, and he's pretty laid-back. They're both really nice guys," Zach fills him in. "We'll have fun."
Stiles emits a noise from the back of his throat, but instead of the acknowledgment he intended, it comes out resembling the distressed whinny of a dying horse. Ignoring his brother's boisterous laughter, Stiles slumps against the car window, cursing his own existence.
Fuck his life, he muses, mentally adding a sarcastic note: with a dildo .
"Stiles, Stiles, do that noise again," Zach manages to utter between bouts of laughter, barely containing his amusement.
"No, Zach. I only sound like a dying animal once a year. Come back around this time next year," Stiles deadpans, earning another eruption of laughter from his brother.
Choosing to tune out Zach's relentless teasing, a bright smile gradually spreads across Stiles' face as he catches sight of the sand and ocean appearing around the bend.
The ocean water glistens under the sunlight, and the rhythmic waves promise him an exhilarating time as they rise and crash with a mesmerizing force.
Stiles can practically feel the thrill coursing through his veins, eager to plunge into the water.
If he had his way, he would sprint the remaining distance instead of enduring his brother's hyena-like laughter.
But, alas, his surfboard is securely fastened on the car roof, rendering such a hasty approach impossible.
Upon arrival, Stiles notices a few girls sunbathing on the shore, along with a lone surfer riding the waves. Other than that, the beach remains quiet and uninhabited—a peaceful sanctuary. Stiles silently hopes it stays that way even during weekends.
Just imagine, his very own secluded beach, right by his house.
A surfer's dream come true.
Both brothers cringe in sympathy as they witness the surfer wipe out in a spectacular fashion.
"Noob?" Zach inquires, finally recovering from his laughing fit.
"Noob," Stiles solemnly agrees.
"It looks like they're already here," Zach informs, gesturing toward a black Camaro with two surfboards strapped to its roof.
Following Zach's gaze, Stiles peers out the window and spots the car and the two guys his brother mentioned earlier.
Correction: he sees a miniature, slim Adonis and a broodingly handsome model. Though "brandsome"—a blend of brooding and handsome—looks like he was dragged to the beach against his will, judging by his scowl and deathly frown.
As they park a few spots away from the other two, Stiles takes the opportunity to thoroughly examine the pair, setting aside the temporary silly nicknames for the moment.
He'll need them back until he learns their actual names.
Starting with the smaller of the duo, Stiles observes his short chestnut hair, the perfect smile adorning his face, the light scruff on his jawline, his well-defined muscles, the subtle tan on his skin, and the ruggedly handsome features that exude an aura of approachability.
Suddenly, a realization hits Stiles, and he sharply turns to face Zach, his eyes narrowing with a mix of scrutiny and accusation.
"Why didn't I see it earlier? It's so freaking obvious," Stiles whispers in realization, as if uncovering a well-kept secret.
Zach raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Stiles' cryptic statement. Stiles leans in closer, his voice hushed and conspiratorial. "I know your fuckingsecret."
Zach's face contorts into an expression that screams, "I don't even want to know what you're thinking," as he steps out of the car, leaving Stiles to roll his eyes dramatically, aware that Zach isn't paying attention.
With an air of theatrics, Stiles follows suit, directing his focus to the broodingly handsome figure before him.
With raven black hair, sharp cheekbones, and an impressive stubble that Stiles finds incredibly appealing, brandsome captivates his attention.
The guy's eyes are a mesmerizing blend of pale green with hints of brown and blue, a color that Stiles can't quite define.
There's something about brandsome that draws him in completely, making it impossible for Stiles to tear his eyes away.
And let's not forget his little buddy downstairs, who seems to be in total agreement with Stiles' assessment.
Adonis, as Stiles refers to it in his mind, isn't too shabby himself, but brandsome takes the cake in the looks department. Even his nether regions have no qualms about proclaiming their admiration.
Zach must have noticed Stiles' infatuation, for he pats him on the shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear, "Keep your dick in check, Stiles. I can practically see your little guy pitching a tent through your wetsuit."
Stiles mentally contemplates fratricide for that comment alone.
Their dad wouldn't mind having an only child.
Nevertheless, he manages to tear his gaze away from brandsome when the slimmer of the two approaches them, a friendly smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Hey, Zach! Glad you made it!" the newcomer greets them, his identity still a bit hazy in Stiles' mind. Is this Jordan? Or Derek? One of the two, he assumes.
The younger Stilinski shifts his eyes between Zach, his friend, and back to his brother, hoping for some clarification.
Stiles diverts his attention from Zach as they engage in conversation about who knows what, redirecting his gaze towards brandsome, who returns his stare with a blank expression.
Fortunately, Adonis, as Stiles mentally dubs him again, lets out a laugh, glances at brandsome, and playfully nudges him with his elbow, snapping brandsome out of his trance.
"Hey, Zach," brandsome mumbles, his voice tight and gruff.
Wow, a real talker, Stiles sarcastically thinks to himself, noting the brevity of brandsome's response.
"Hey, guys. Oh, by the way, I hope you don't mind that I brought my little brother along," Zach announces, slinging an arm around Stiles' shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. "This is Stiles."
Adonis extends his hand with a radiant smile, and as Stiles shakes it, he introduces himself, "I'm Jordan, nice to meet you, Stiles."
"Likewise," Stiles responds with a smile, giving a nod before turning his attention to the other teen. But brandsome continues to stare at him, almost transfixed.
"And this is Derek," Jordan interjects, elbowing brandsome once again, this time a bit harder, judging by Derek's wince and subsequent rubbing of his side.
"Hey, I'm Derek," he grumbles, scowling at Jordan as if the other guy had rudely interrupted his train of thought.
And just like that, a staring contest ensues between the two of them.
Derek can't seem to take his eyes off Stiles, and Stiles finds himself similarly captivated by Derek.
There's something in Derek's gaze that Stiles can't quite decipher.
Is it annoyance?
Curiosity?
He can't quite put his finger on it.
Without averting his gaze from Stiles, Derek extends his hand.
Nervously, Stiles takes a step forward to shake it.
The pure strength and grip of Derek's large hand nearly crushes Stiles' smaller one.
He quickly retracts his hand, wincing at the pain.
"Ahh... shit," Stiles winces, rapidly shaking his hand in the air to alleviate the discomfort.
"Shit... I-I'm sorry," Derek stammers, taking a step back and tearing his eyes away from Stiles.
Derek's definitely staring at him, but why?
The guy looks straight, right?
Or maybe he's bi and checking Stiles out?
Ah. That's just wishful thinking.
Stiles contemplates the possibilities, but he can't quite discern the truth.
"It's alright," Stiles assures him, opting to shift his focus to his brother and Jordan. Zach and Jordan are still deep in conversation, while Derek's gaze returns to fixate on Stiles once again.
Zach, for the love of god, Stiles pleads internally, this guy looks like he wants to devour me.
Keep it cool, Stiles.
He's just being... friendly?
Derek's continued gaze makes Stiles increasingly uneasy.
He quickly unties his surfboard from the roof of the Mustang.
Stiles needs to get in the water now, to shake off the strange sensation brewing in his chest and clear his mind from the whirlwind of thoughts about jumping on Derek.
Especially with Zach around and his friend getting a front-row seat to the potential embarrassment.
"Last one in is... Oh, what the hell am I saying?" Stiles trails off, realizing the foolishness of his statement.
He feels his nether regions respond, betraying his momentary lapse of judgment.
As if in response to Stiles' slip-up, Derek graces him with a crooked smile that elicits an internal scolding from his inner Stiles.
Not cool, bro.
Boners and wetsuits definitely don't mix well.
Stiles can't recall if Zach or the others say anything, as he takes off in a full sprint towards the inviting water.
"Whoa! Right behind you!" he hears Zach's excited yell behind him, knowing that the other two will follow suit.
/
For the next two hours, the four of them revel in the exhilarating experience of riding the waves at the point where the riptide is strongest.
The waves are a spectacle, rising and cresting at precisely the right moment.
Each time Stiles catches a good wave, the others burst into laughter or shout words of encouragement, fueling his confidence to showcase his skills.
As the waves gradually calm down, Stiles finds himself paddling up alongside Zach, the two of them sitting on their boards, their eyes fixed on the vast expanse of the horizon.
"I'm starting to like this," Stiles confesses, his voice carrying a mix of awe and contentment.
Zach turns towards him, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Yeah? Me too," he responds, his voice laced with genuine enthusiasm.
In that moment, Stiles feels a surge of gratitude for having Zach as his brother. He knows that siblings are supposed to have each other's backs, but he's also aware that not all brothers are as supportive and caring as Zach. Having a sibling like him makes navigating the challenges of the past and whatever lies ahead much easier to endure.
"Your friends are pretty cool too, I guess," Stiles remarks, turning to face Zach and offering him a warm smile.
Stiles knows that Zach has been eagerly awaiting his approval of his newfound friends.
Whenever Zach forms new connections, he always seeks Stiles' approval.
Despite being the younger brother, Stiles often feels like he holds some measure of authority over on who Zach decides to introduce as his friends to him, as if his permission is needed for these things.
It's a dynamic they've grown accustomed to over the years.
Zach's lips curl into a bright smile, and he points excitedly in the distance, his eyes catching sight of a promising wave. "Heads up!" he shouts, swiftly propelling himself forward to catch the wave.
Stiles watches with admiration as Zach rides the wave, his figure suspended on the water's surface for a moment, as if time itself stands still.
The tranquility of the ocean envelops Stiles, allowing him to reflect on the day's events and the unexpected encounters that have unfolded.
"So, when did you guys move here?" a deep voice interrupts Stiles' thoughts, causing him to squeak in surprise and nearly lose his balance on the board.
The sound of a gruff laugh resonates in the air, emphasizing the sudden disruption to Stiles' calm.
It feels as though the world is conspiring against him, orchestrating consecutive surprises throughout the day.
"Sorry, I mean..." Stiles regains his composure, turning to see Derek's well-built torso perched atop his board, glistening with droplets of water that accentuate his defined muscles.
Stiles can't help but be momentarily entranced by the sight, his gaze fixated on the impressive display before him.
"Uh, just last week," Stiles finally manages to reply, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. He notices Derek nodding and directing his gaze in Zach's direction.
"I see. Well, glad you guys are here," Derek says after a brief pause, his words carrying a touch of sincerity. "Zach told us that you play lacrosse and that you're pretty fast."
Stiles blushes slightly, feeling exposed under Derek's gaze. "Yeah, I've been playing lacrosse for five years, but my true calling is surfing," he admits, hoping Derek doesn't notice the telltale sign of his embarrassment.
Derek's eyes roam over Stiles' toned and slender frame, basking in the glow of the afternoon sun. Stiles can't help but notice the intensity of Derek's stare, an unspoken curiosity shimmering within his gaze.
"You ever think about joining the Football team?" Derek's unexpected question catches Stiles off guard, emerging from left field.
Stiles blinks, momentarily taken aback. Football has never been his thing, and he wonders why Derek would bring it up.
However, the seriousness etched on Derek's face reveals his genuine interest.
"Uh, no? Football's not really my thing, dude," Stiles replies, attempting to regain his composure.
He meets Derek's gaze, their boards gently bobbing in the placid surf.
Derek continues to scrutinize Stiles for a few more moments, his eyes lingering on him. Then, he paddles closer, his warm hand coming to rest on Stiles' shoulder.
Stiles fights off a shudder, attempting to maintain his composure. "We could really use you," Derek says, his tone serious before softening into a warm smile.
A rush of heat floods Stiles' cheeks, and he can't help but feel the intensity of the moment. Derek's presence affects him deeply, stirring emotions that he struggles to comprehend.
Jesus, calm down.
"Sure, I'll think about it," Stiles stammers, his mind racing as he tries to process this encounter.
Derek begins paddling back to shore, calling over his shoulder, "See you back on the beach!"
Stiles is momentarily rendered speechless, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts.
For someone who usually has an endless stream of words, he finds himself utterly tongue-tied. He musters a feeble "Yeah," before retreating to the safety of his own thoughts.
As the ocean begins to settle, Stiles decides to call it a day. His back tingles from the sun's warmth, and his muscles ache from the day's activities.
"I love Cali," Stiles murmurs to himself as he reaches the shore with remarkable speed, his feet sinking into the wet sand. He notices Zach and Derek already engaged in quiet conversation, preparing to depart.
Jordan is the last one out of the water, his face sunburned and a hint of disappointment in his eyes, likely due to his numerous wipeouts during the surfing session.
Stiles offers Jordan a sympathetic smile, silently acknowledging the struggles he faced on the waves.
"Hey, Stiles, you really caught some good ones out there!" Jordan exclaims, offering a high-five that rekindles his easygoing nature. "Looks like Zach isn't the only athlete in the family."
In that moment, Stiles feels a connection forming with Jordan, solidifying their bond as newfound "bros."
Stiles resolves to provide Jordan with some surfing pointers during their next session.
"Ha, yeah, thanks," Stiles replies, his appreciation evident in his voice.
"Hey, Stiles, why don't you help me put the boards back?" Jordan suggests, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder, inviting him to join him on the shore.
Derek and Zach must have noticed their approach, as the two brothers begin jogging back toward them. "Hey, we're heading to the Sand Shack to grab some grub. You guys game?" Zach points towards a small sub-bar located near the beach's main entrance.
Derek stands next to Zach, his eyes alternating between Stiles and Jordan, observing their closeness.
Stiles locks eyes with Derek, and in that moment, he detects a glimmer of something indescribable within Derek's gaze.
Unable to decipher its meaning, Stiles remains captivated by the enigmatic older teen.
The minutes slip by as they maintain their gaze, only broken by Zach's snapping fingers, a sharp sound to bring Stiles back to reality.
"Earth to Stiles," Zach snaps his fingers again. "You there?"
Stiles shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. He realizes he had been caught staring, and by his own brother, no less.
"We're going to grab some food for the road. Why don't you and Jordan load up? We'll be back soon," Derek suggests, gesturing for Zach to follow him.
"Come on, Stiles," Jordan encourages, patting him on the back and leading him towards the waiting Camaro.
With the day's activities completed, the four of them part ways. Derek shakes Stiles' hand again, but this time, the gesture carries a gentleness that wasn't present before.
"And think about what I said," Derek remarks, a slight grin playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkling with warmth.
"Uh, sure, I'll think about it," Stiles stammers, rushing to get inside Zach's car.
Stiles can feel Zach's gaze on him as he slides into the car, sensing his brother's amusement dancing in his eyes. He turns to face Zach, confirming his suspicions with a smile.
"So, Stiles," Zach begins, the aroma of their sandwiches wafting through the air, triggering Stiles' hunger and flustered state. "That was fun, right?"
"Yeah... it was. Thanks for letting me tag along," Stiles replies, his eyes fixed on the sandwich bag, though he can still see Zach nodding from the corner of his vision.
"Of course, bro," Zach responds. "Jordan seems chill. You can tell he's easy to get along with."
Stiles wholeheartedly agrees.
"Yeah, he's pretty cool," Stiles remarks, tilting his head and catching a whiff of the tantalizing bacon scent. "I like him."
"Derek's a bit quiet, but nice when you get him to talk. I didn't know this until Jordan told me, but he's the team captain," Zach shares, providing Stiles with new information.
Stiles chuckles lightly, not particularly invested in the football conversation, but willing to indulge Zach.
"Oh, really?" Stiles says, amusement lacing his words.
Zach nods, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in a rhythmic pattern. "I think we're going to like it here."
Stiles snorts, a genuine expression of his contentment. He already feels a sense of belonging. He has two incredible "bros," a beach within close proximity, and a private beach at that—unless it gets crowded on weekends.
And to top it off, he can't deny the blossoming crush he has on the captain of his school's football team.
Stiles doesn't believe in love at first sight, but there's an undeniable connection he feels with Derek—a connection that defies explanation.
Somehow.
"Did you like Derek?" Zach inquires, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. He casts a sidelong glance at Stiles, a knowing smile forming at the corners of his lips.
Stiles chokes on his own spit, the audacity of Zach's question nearly knocking the wind out of him. At this point, he contemplates maiming his brother for asking such a thing.
But the truth remains: Stiles does like Derek.
"He, uh, he seems cool," Stiles tries to play it cool, not wanting to reveal too much.
Zach hums, seemingly unfazed by Stiles' flailing. "Well, cool. He was asking a few questions about you," Zach continues, seemingly oblivious to Stiles' distress. "I didn't know if you guys had talked at all."
Stiles struggles to find his words, his mind and heart still entangled in thoughts of Derek. "Yeah, we... yeah, we talked a bit. I mean, he talked, I listened," Stiles manages to get out, mentally kicking himself for stumbling over his own words.
Zach shoots him a knowing look, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Sure, Stiles. Just remember, you have to be careful with your heart. It's a delicate organ," he advises, a teasing note coloring his voice.
Stiles rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at his lips. "I'll keep that in mind, Dr. Strangelove ."
California sure is different.