It's not until he steps out of the cab that Derek realizes he doesn't have a plausible reason for being here. Sure e lived in New York for five years but he and Laura had kept to themselves. There was the odd acquaintance turned close friend along the way but nothing that would prompt a three-thousand mile trip. The beautiful brownstone that reminded Derek too much of the one he and Laura purchased when they arrived all those years ago. A place that still felt foreign to him despite the attempts to make it a home. Hell he's not even sure he'd recognize the place now.
The scent of cinnamon hits him, wafting down from the third floor window and it occurs to him how much harder this is now that he's in front of Stiles building. Stiles is humming some tune that Derek can't quite place but it brings a smile to his lips.Declarations of love seem so simple in movies. Boy likes girl or boy. Boy can’t tell girl or boy he loves her or him. Boys chases after girl or boy. And God was he really taking his cues from movies now. He resisted the urge facepalm his own thoughts. This was stupid, he could turn around and he be on his way back to California in an hour. He also knows he can't do that.
“Fuck it,” He mutters to himself knocking gently on the glass door.
_ _ _
Stiles wipes flour and other sweet remnants onto his sweats as he rushes to the banging at his door. Kirby is practically bursting when he opens, her reddish-brown curls bouncing on either side of her brown face, her green eyes giddy. His downstairs neighbor recently turned landlord is leaning against the doorframe, her hands are smeared with paint and clay, not unlike usual.
“I told you the food wouldn’t be ready for another twenty minutes.”
Kirby gives him a sly look. "I’m not here for cinnamon buns and you have some serious explaining to do."
"About?" Stiles quirks an eyebrow licking icing off the side of his hand.
"About the prime USDA beef at the front door asking for you." She nods towards the steps
Stiles slips past her and down the stairs. "I'm sure whomever he is he'll appreciate the beef comparison." He’s not expecting anyone. Any of his college buddies would have called to see if the was at home. It can't be the guy from Times Square because that was just a New Year's kiss and he never told him where he lives. Stiles stops short because surely he’s hallucinating Derek Hale standing at his front door. Derek Hale, all fierce green eyes, dressed in black from head to toe, soaked to the bone, in New York City, at his door, looking for all the world like he's about to bolt.
Stiles surges forward instantly, one thousand scenarios running through his mind, the most horrifying right at the front. The glass vibrates from the force of his pull, he’s moving so fast he almost slams into Derek.
“What happened to my Dad?! Is he okay? Why didn’t you call me?!”
Derek’s eyebrows furrow, bewilderment twisting his face. “John's fine” He says it like he can't understand why Stiles would think otherwise.
Stiles eyes go murderous, he shoves Derek back a step. “Then why are you here on my steps not saying anything?!”
‘You didn’t give me a chance to say anything.”Derek counters
“Because why would you be here unless something is wrong.” Is it Boyd? Is it Erica? Scott? Melissa? SAY SOMETHING!” Stiles is shouting now and Derek can't help but find it a tad adorable. Any moment Stiles is going to take him by the shoulders and shake him.
Ah fuck it. Derek mutters before wrapping one hand around the back of Stiles neck and pulling him in.
It’s the most blissful two minutes of his life, then he stares into Stiles bewildered face. For a moment he's afraid he'd misread everything. Every glance, every knowing smile, everything right down to the smallest touch.
“Well Happy New Year to you too.” Stiles smirks and pulls him in for another kiss. “What took you so long?”