Stiles is heading out to his jeep when he sees the infamous Camaro parked directly in his path. He takes a moment to appreciate the black sleek beauty of it. It's a pretty sweet car, though it's got nothing on his baby. His eyes gravitate to where she's parked, under the swaying branches of one of the larger willow trees on campus. Nothing but the best for his car.
A throat clears behind him. Stiles rocks on his heels self-conscious for being caught staring. "Oh sorry, man," he turns to face whoever has taken exception for him standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
He's greeted with none other than Derek Hale, Beacon Hills very own prodigal son. Stiles frowns, he thought he'd be taller from the way everyone's been going on about his return. Lydia was actually swooning at the lunch table, which was equally disheartening and amazing because she sat across from him while highlighting why Derek Hale's ass was perfect. He lost his appetite soon after Allison and Danny chimed in much to Scott and Jackson's unhappy glowers.
"You shouldn't be here," he finally says worrying his bottom lip between his teeth because Derek's giving him an odd look. Stiles is sure he overheard a couple of the guys on the lacrosse team planning on keying the Camaro while the other half were going to tee-pee the Hales' house. He glances back at the car to check that Derek's not going to pummel him for scratches. The car's still delightfully unmarred. His shoulders relax.
"It's my town," declares Derek with an air of possessiveness than on anyone else Stiles would call dickish but it seems to fit whatever vibe Derek is rocking.
"No, I mean, like there's a warrant out for you," Stiles warns because he's being a good Samaritan and his dad would be ashamed if he caught wind of his son harassing the town's golden boy.
Derek arches his left eyebrow and crosses his arms. Stiles is momentarily envious of his leather jacket. His hoodie seems woefully lacking in comparison. Maybe that's why Lydia's attracted to him. He does a mental calculation of the contents of his Batman piggy bank - it's still suffering from buying his new surfboard - which was totally worth it - so he doesn't see any new grandiose expenditures and he doubts his dad would shell out for a jacket. A new car battery, yes, but who's Stiles' kidding.
"The guys here kind want to kill for stealing the womenfolk," he says conspiratorially. "Because of your amazing ass and unbeatable lacrosse records. Though I should work on being known for other things. 'cause that's pretty superficial."
He's proud that he's done his civic duty and can retreat to his jeep and some curly fries and a milkshake before cramming for chemistry. Stiles turns but his hoodie is held back and he flails a bit to get his footing back.
"Hey, man, I just warned you, it's pretty poor manners to beat me up," he babbles, his arms pinwheeling in a ninjaesque move if he does say so himself. Derek lets go and Stiles straightens out his hoodie with a hunted look.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Derek almost growls. Stiles is nothing but disbelieving.
"Yeah, because you're just secretly handsy?" Stiles mutters, eying Derek.
Derek actually smirks. It's a shade below shit-eating and above rakishly handsome. Stiles can kind of see why Danny practically wrote an ode to his cheekbones.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
And Stiles has to laugh because that's all kinds of terrible.
"That works?" he snorts. "Man, I guess gossip really does inflate reality."
Derek gives him an actual pout. It's all pretty devastating. Though Scott could give him a run for his money. His puppy dog pouts are lethal if you haven't had a decade of building up an immunity. "You said you knew who I was."
"Everyone does," he says unimpressed. "But, dude, you need to work on your game. Dark and mysterious can only get you so much. I should know, I am repeatedly shot down by goddesses like Lydia Martin and I know I'm not remotely hot to gay guys, apparently my glibness and overall personality is an affront to almost everyone."
Derek gives him a perplexed look like Stiles is a special kind of anomaly that should be studied by CERN.
"You have me at a disadvantage," Derek says. "You know me, and I would have remembered meeting you."
"Stiles Stilinski," Stiles says and tries to ignore Derek's stare. He can totally feel a blush creeping up on him and he'd rather not embarrass himself publicly like that. He already fell into Danny's lap this morning trying to retrieving his highlighter's cap. He's filled his daily quota.
"Well, I should go. Can't be seen fraternizing with the enemy. Scott's thinking about egging your house," he says. "I mean, Miguel, is. I don't know a Scott. No siree. Though it'd be easier to just stick Jolly Ranchers to your car, it'd totally fuck up this sweet paint job," he trails off only to meet Derek's amused green eyes. His face flushes on principle.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?"
"You did," Derek grins. "Inventive, you should tell Miguel."
"But since you're concerned for my safety, I think it's only fair for you to take me out for dinner," Derek says nonchalantly.
Stiles' eyes widen in disbelief. "What? No, I'm sure you can handle things fine," he says. "And I barely have enough cash to get my order of fries."
"Well I guess you'll pay for the next date," says Derek with a faux put-upon sigh. He clearly walks that line of bullshitting as finely as Stiles.
"Okay," nods Stiles because that seems fair only it doesn't make sense. "No wait, I'm not-"
The dawning horror of being accidentally dated is lost as Derek tugs on his arm, herding him to the passenger side of the Camaro. "You can tell me more about my lack of game over dinner."
Stiles is struck speechless as Derek shoots him a smile that reaches his eyes. He blames his stomach growling at the same moment Derek opens the car door for not putting up a fight at getting into the car. A free meal is a free meal.
His brain catches up to him half way to out of the school's parking lot to argue over Derek's choice in music. He steadfastly ignores the heady feeling of going on a date with the Derek Hale. Apparently Stiles isn't immune to the Hale charm after all. Though his jeep totally beats Derek's car hand's down. Derek's unmanly squawk of protest at that is enough to push down Stiles' blush and bring back his flailing sarcastic personality. Derek doesn't seem to mind.
Lydia's going to be green with envy.