Stiles has no allusions of popularity. He's the sheriff's son after all. No one wants to hang out with the guy who's dad busts your parties and pulls you down for speeding. And enforces curfews. Basically Stiles is the school's equivalent of a narc but without the badge, the thrill of undercover and no 21 Jump Street drama. So he isn't invited to parties. At least the good ones. He does get the ones that involve bowling and ice cream cake.
So it's a shock when JV lacrosse super star and resident bad boy tortured artist Derek Hale slides his tray across from him.
"Urgh," Stiles says and wishes Scott was here to share eyebrow disbelief with. Sadly he's retaking a chem test during lunch. "Are you lost?"
Derek just shoots him a scowl. Stiles looks to his usual table. Kate Argent is holding court and not so subtly glaring at Stiles. It's a full on ice glare. Glacier levels of frosty.
"Shut up," says Derek in an almost snarl before attacking his lunch with aggressive force. Stiles sympathizes with the pudding cup. Derek is terrorizing it with his spoon.
"Shutting up then," says Stiles and tries to not lose half his lunch to his lap when watching Derek and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It's the most awkward lunch he's had in a while. And usually he scalds himself with his cup-of-soup on a weekly basis. So yeah. Awkward.
Scott doesn't believe him.
Until it happens again.
Scott and Stiles are sharing a time honored lunch hour tradition. DC/Marvel talk. Stiles is more a Batman guy himself and Scott leans quite heavily on Spider-man mythology. They're already into their Batman versus Spidey debate from their wait in the lunch line that they don't notice Derek until they are seated.
Scott gapes and flails. Stiles understands. Because one is an incident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. And it's only Tuesday. So not a pattern.
"Wha-" Scott begins.
Stiles looks at Derek angrily cutting into the school's greying meatloaf and decides to ignore the problem. And Kate Argent's ice glare.
"So we agree Spidey wouldn't win against Batman but what about Wolverine?" he says instead of offering any further insight onto why Derek is scarlet nerding himself.
"I never agreed to that!" says Scott snapping out of staring at Derek. "And Spidey could so beat Batman he-"
And Stiles draws his friend into that conversation, ignoring how Derek looks up occasionally like he's listening.
Stiles thinks it maybe the full moon. Weirder shit has happened in Beacon Hills. He contemplates this while warming the bench. It's Friday and it's been a week of Derek silently eating lunch next to Stiles. Well, across from Stiles. He not so subtly glared at Scott to the point now they're an awkward right angle triangle.
One where Scott occasionally drifts off to stare at Allison Argent and how the sunlight reflects off her hair like a halo. It's most definitely a pattern now.
Stiles is actually grateful for Derek now, he does a fine impersonation of a person listening when Stiles talks about random facts and B-rated horror films when Scott zones out for his Allison daydreaming. Not that Derek talks, he eats and occasionally nods. Sorta. And knocks his long legs into Stiles. Stiles tries to tuck his legs underneath his seat to prevent any other mishaps. But he's just as tall as Derek and his knees end up bumping his regardless.
Stiles doesn't know what is happening. Despite Kate Argent glaring and half the JV lacrosse team now nodding hello to him in the hall.
Oh, Jackson and Danny sitting at their table today. Icing on the cake of the growing X-file that his life is becoming.
"Stilinski!" shouts the coach.
Stiles looks up from where he's relacing another spare lacrosse stick.
"You're on," the coach says and suddenly Stiles finds himself in the scrimmage. Someone actually passes him the ball.
It's getting weird. Usually by now Jackson would have had him eating grass. And Greenberg would have trampled him.
He's packing up his bag after practice waiting for Scott to finish in the showers to give him a ride home when Jackson straddles the bench beside him.
"Party tomorrow night at my place," he says.
"What?" Stiles gapes.
Jackson looks uncomfortable. "Starts at nine, yeah?" he nods before shuffling off.
Stiles frowns only to catch Derek's gaze from the end of the locker bay.
"Yeah," he mutters hollowly, averting his eyes to stare inside the recesses of his locker. "What the fuck?" he whispers.
He spends an hour agonizing about going. And then decides not to. He's already ordered pizza and in his boxers in front of his TV when the doorbell rings.
"Let me - you're not the pizza guy," says Stiles, gaping at Derek Hale standing on his porch wearing his trademarked leather jacket and a dark blue Henley and jeans.
Derek looks pissed. Stiles can help to wonder why, he's the one in his Batman boxers and his dad's police academy t-shirt.
"What are you doing?" Derek says.
"I really think I should be asking that," says Stiles, awkwardly.
"I texted you."
Stiles blinks owlishly at him. "Uhh, dude. My phone's been MIA for two weeks. I think it's at Scott's," replies Stiles.
Derek looks like he's having an aneurysm. "Why aren't you ready?"
"For the party," Derek says with a scowl.
"Dude, I'm not going. I already ordered pizza-" he starts to say before Derek pushes him aside to enter the house.
"Fine, we'll eat before going. Just get dressed," Derek says, eyeballing him in a away that has Stiles' flushing red.
"Right," he says in deference of saying something and escapes to put on pants than try to argue. Arguing is harder pantsless.
He comes down to Derek helping himself to pizza.
"Hey! That's mine!" says Stiles.
"I payed," Derek replies.
Stiles stares before his stomach gives out first and he snags a slice.
He doesn't know how he got from his house to Derek's Camaro to sitting snugly by his side while nursing a stale cup of beer from the keg in Jackson's backyard.
Or how half way through the night Derek's arm wraps around his shoulder.
It's only when he's pleasantly buzzed that he realizes this might be a date. He soon falls asleep after that revelation on Derek's shoulder. And wakes up in his own bed with his phone charging on his night table.
With fifteen texts.
All confirming one thing.
He may be dating Derek Hale.