Stiles should have known that the day would be a disaster from the very start. He had accidentally put his alarm two hours earlier than needed and couldn’t fall asleep after the bastard rang at 6.30am. His crappy apartment didn’t have any warm water that morning and then his buddy Scotty started to became way too loud with his girlfriend. So Stiles decided to flee, preferably to get some sugar in him.
The café he frequently went to was almost deserted even though people were busy getting to work, collecting their daily coffee on the way. Stiles ordered his usual – chocolate mocha with whole milk, extra whipped cream please – sacrificing his breakfast to afford the heavenly drink. While he waited he started to go through his notes from last lecture, trying to get the notebook from under his laptop. At the same time, his phone started to ring and his name was yelled, signaling his drink was ready. Stiles already had a grip on his notebook, barely keeping his laptop bag on his shoulder. Stiles started flailing in his hurry to get his drink – damn hands! – and in his haste crashed to another customer, splashing the other’s hot coffee all over them.
“Dammit!” Stiles yelled, crying silent tears for his notes. Hopefully any coffee didn’t get on them. Stiles looked up, about to glare the other to death for drenching him in hot coffee when he noticed the barista’s pale face and trembling lips, looking horrified. Stiles started to get an odd feeling about this, until his eyes landed on the man who bumped into him. (Well okay, he might have been partly to blame.) And the man was undoubtedly a man. He had dark hair and a stubble, hard face with mesmerizing eyes – what color even is that? - and Stiles was pretty sure the guy’s muscle’s had muscles, his shirt didn’t really have any hope in covering the fact that this guy trained. A lot.
“Even though you are gorgeous, look where you are going! You could’ve given me second degree burns or something.” And wow, Stiles really needed to work on his filter. He looked the guy straight in the eyes, seeing them harden to a glare. And if there ever was a competition of whose glare was the deadliest, this guy would win the three first places. His glare was terrifying. Man, Stiles really needed to work on his own murdering glare if he ever hoped to compete. Or his instinct of self-preservation, because the glare plus the frown? Amazingly deadly combination.
“Excuse me?” The man said, his voice quiet and smooth. It only added to the whole ‘deadly’ atmosphere. Okay, maybe he was a little bit exaggerating but- “You’re the one that ran into me.“
And oh, right. Stiles was in the middle of a debate. Or, you know – conversation. “You should’ve looked where you were going! AND you splashed hot contents all over me.”
“Me? You’re blaming me? I’m the one with my own coffee on my shirt.”
“Because you weren’t looking.”
“You’re the one that was flailing all around, not paying attention to anything.”
“Well excuse me, I pay a lot of attention to things, thank you very much. You had better hope my notes are okay.”
“Or you’ll do what?”
“I’ll… figure something. Maybe drench you in my drink…” And oh, that was a nice thought. Stiles could lick the whipped cream off straight from the skin, no problem – was he saying any of this out loud? Oops.
The man’s glare had softened, instead he now looked confused. “What.”
“Sir, I’m sure he didn’t mean it! Right, Stiles?” The barista interrupted, checking Stiles’ name from the takeaway mug. Both men turned their glares to her, making her loose some more color from her face. Okay, Stiles was pretty sure he wasn’t that menacing, but the other guy certainly was.
Someone handed the man a pile of napkins. He was as muscular as the man Stiles bumped into, but he had dark skin and marginally softer features. What was it with them and all the muscle? The man started to angrily clean his Henley with little success. “Be glad you look like a broke student, I won’t send you the dry cleaning bill,” the man said, glaring Stiles again for good measure. Gah, why was the man so freaking hot?
Stiles started to feel a little shy suddenly. His face heated up. “I could pay for the bill, but I won’t because this,” Stiles said, flailing his arms wildly around “wasn’t my fault. I could buy you a coffee though? Maybe next week?” Was he seriously asking the man out? Self-preservation Stiles, remember?
“Are you asking me out?” The man looked extremely suspicious and confused. The man who had handed the napkins looked about ready to burst. In laughter or rage, Stiles couldn’t be sure.
“Um, yeah. I guess I am. I could give you my number?” Stiles said, sounding more and more uncertain the more he talked. “I mean, you are gorgeous and I might have been at fault here that your drink is now a part of my shirt, so it only could be fair. You seem like a nice guy and - “
Stiles never got to finish because the man and his friend burst out laughing. What did he say? Stiles knew he was funny, but maybe not as funny as their laughter implied. They were near tears and Stiles hadn’t even tried to be funny this time around.
“What did I say?” Stiles asked, confused when the laughter had quieted down a little. The man gave a big, chilling grin looking Stiles straight in the eyes.
“Oh, nothing at all. By all means, give me your number. Your name was Stiles, was it?”
“Uh, yeah.” Stiles said while telling the man his number. The man pulled his phone out and repeated after Stiles. Afterwards he put his phone back into his jean’s pocket, all traces of the smile gone. Stiles started to get the sinking feeling he would never hear from this man again.
“Sooo… Call me? Maybe? And I did not do that on purpose! I mean – the Carly Rae Jepsen reference… Heh, I don’t listen to that kind of music. Not that it’s bad! If you listen to it that’s completely fine – not that you do, or I wouldn’t know but all I’m saying is-“
“Stiles.” The man interrupted. Stiles clicked his mouth shut, realizing that he didn’t even know the man’s name. “Shut up.” That was a bit rude, wasn’t it? Stiles decided not to take offence – for now.
“What is your name, anyway?” He couldn’t call the man McHottie in his head all the time. Or cold he? Anyway it would be nice to know.
The man looked at him with intensity, seemingly looking for something. When he seemed satisfied enough, he opened his mouth. “Derek.“ Stiles only nodded. The name fit the guy - Derek – nicely.
Suddenly Stiles realized they were in the middle of a café and everyone was staring at them with big, scared eyes. The barista had fled and left Stiles’ drink on the counter. Stiles’ phone was ringing again and it was way too quiet in the café.
“Anyway, I must run. It was nice to bump into you, Derek! Call me.” Stiles said, grapping his drink and fleeing the place. His phone had stopped ringing, but before he could see who had called the screen flashed with ‘Scotty’.
“Heey, Scotty-boy. What’s up?”
“Could you buy muffins? Me and Kira really would love some.”
“Really, Scott? You called me –“ Stiles took the phone from his ear the check “ – four times to say bring muffins?” Stiles said, hearing Scott’s little huff from the other line.
“Fine, but only because you are my best buddy of all buddies. And you will pay me back today!”
Back in the café, Derek continued to tap his shirt with partially soggy napkins. “Find out everything there is to find about him.” He said softly to his companion. Boyd nodded, looking toward the other end of the café. He nodded at the blond there, indicating that he should follow. The man rose from his seat, left his coffee on the table and started walking behind the strange boy. “I want to know everything.” Derek murmured, turning around to order another coffee. He didn’t have to pay for it, an apology from the barista, she said. Derek only gave her a cold smile in return.