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“You couldn’t have mentioned that he looks like Danny Zuko and Robert Pattinson’s lovechild?”

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It was a Tuesday morning, the sun was shining outside the apartment, and Stiles didn’t have classes until 4:30 that afternoon. Basically, it was a good time for a long, leisurely walk to the coffee shop, and a long, leisurely breakfast with a pastry, chai, and a newspaper. Because Stiles was a cultured, big city university student now, dammit. He read the newspaper.

He considered waking Derek up and dragging him along, but Derek looked so peaceful, like a stubbly teddy bear with the blankets pulled up just over his head, that Stiles didn’t have the heart to disturb him. Besides, he was with the guy practically 24/7, and contrary to popular belief, Stiles didn’t mind getting some alone time now and then.

His phone buzzed as he was lacing up his boots.

“Stiles! There is my darling Stiles! How is your fine, well-rounded ass doing today?”

“Hello Steph. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. And keep it down, you’re going to wake Derek up and I don’t even have you on speaker.”

Steph snorted through the line. “He cannot possibly have hearing that good.”

“You just don’t have faith, Steph,” Stiles retorted, glancing at the back of the apartment, where Derek lay up a set of stairs and underneath several blankets. “He’s like a hawk.”

“Mkay, fine,” Steph replied doubtfully. “Anywho, Stiles, baby. Failing Economics in the Asian Sphere pretty righteously. Like, not kidding, great big F at the moment. Not even the fun kind of F, with the grunting and thrusting. Sooo...”

Stiles grimaced, but only because Steph couldn’t see. Whenever she saw him making faces, she launched into a lecture about how he was being discriminatory towards people who didn’t go to class. Stiles questioned her logic, but kept his faces to himself. Usually.

“Meet me at Crepevine,” he sighed, turning a corner and nodding at their local Jesus Freak. “I’m walking there now. Also, it’s a lot harder to aggravate Jesus Guy when I can’t hold hands with Derek really obviously.”

“I’d hold hands with you baby.”

“That would defeat the purpose.”

“Maybe your original purpose. I’d still get to feel up those sweet, sweet baby soft palms,” Steph cooed into the receiver. “Oh! Speaking of which, Julia and Joseph? Totally into threeways. Called it. Didn’t I call it?”

“You did indeed call it,” Stiles acquiesced. “Okay, I’m going into Crepevine now, I’ll see you in a bit.”

By the time Steph clattered through the door, jangling the bell several more times than was necessary, Stiles had worked his way through the first four pages of the newspaper. Including all of those confusing “continue on page whatever” articles.

“Sorry,” she held out her hands in a defensive gesture, “late late late late late I know." Steph shook her head and let out a long suffering sigh. “So. How are you, m’boy?”

“Wondering why you no textbooks or notes.”

She looked around her person as though there could be school supplies secreted away in her tanktop, leggings, or the tangle of religious icons around her neck. “Oh noooo. I guess now we’ll just have to shoot the breeze, old sport.”

Restrain from making faces, Stiles. Restrain yourself.

“Stiles! What have I told you about judging other people’s lifestyle choices?”

Oh well. Maybe Stiles could get one of those “you tried” stickers.

An hour or so later, Steph looked up from the cup of (Stiles’) tea she had been nursing. “Yow. Don’t look now, but somebody over there kind of looks like he wants to cut you into little pieces and make a fine souffle out of them.”

Stiles glanced up. “Hmmm, yeah. Probably really dangerous.”

Derek, who could hear Stiles from his spot in the line at the counter, had to put a hand up to his face to hide his smirk.

“Hot though.” Steph craned her head around at an awkward angle, trying to get a look at Derek’s ass.

Stiles knew she would get a good view, but still resented her for trying to see it. You couldn’t take these things seriously with Steph, who humped anything that moved, but Derek was his to hump. The only humping Derek would be getting was good old fashioned Stiles humping.

“He makes the serial killer look work. Terrifying, but in a way that sort of makes your special places tingle. Oh god, oh god, he’s walking towards us. Look innocent Stiles, innocent!”

She actually seemed nervous. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen Steph genuinely nervous. He looked towards where Derek was walking towards them, wondering if she was really talking about him.

No, Derek was the only person walking their way. Just his usual Derek, eyebrows and all. Which... well, they did give Derek a stern expression most of the time, through sheer virtue of their thickness. And Derek’s mouth, attractive as it was, was turned down at the corners by default. If Stiles squinted and turned his head to the side, he could see Derek having a serial killer expression.The overgrown stubble and leather jacket didn’t help either. And why did Derek have to pair it with a gray shirt and black pants? Black was flattering, but not when it was the only thing you wore. Then it just made you look - oh.

Stiles came to the sudden and surprisingly conclusion that Derek was scary looking. Hot scary, sure, but scary looking. Stiles looked at Derek and saw the kid that would always give Stiles the apple slices from his hot lunch in elementary school, but strangers like Steph saw some kind of terrifying scowly guy that was clearly muscled enough to throw you through a window without a second thought.

Then Derek noticed Stiles watching him, and his eyebrows and mouth lifted up, and he looked like the cuddly Derek that Stiles knew and loved. Yay Derek!

Steph’s eyes bulged out when Derek slid into the booth next to Stiles and kissed his temple. Stiles couldn’t see, but he knew that Derek was doing that thing where his eyes briefly fluttered shut in bliss and he smiled a bit against Stiles’ skin. And you call this fuddy duddy a serial killer, Steph?

“Oh,” Stiles said, voice full of mock surprise, “have you not met Derek?”

Steph gave him a look reminiscent of a disapproving grandmother. “That isn’t Derek.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders before taking a sip of coffee. “Yes I am.”

“No you’re not. Stiles never stops talking about him, so I know that Derek likes to cuddle, gives Stiles piggyback rides places, once got a stuffed animal for Valentine’s Day and genuinely liked it, and proposed when Stiles was just under seventeen, because he’s a sap.”

Derek looked incredulously at Stiles. “What about the Empire State Building?”

Stiles shrugged. “I liked the first proposal better, what can I say?”

Steph smacked her head onto the wooden surface of the table. “Oh my god Stiles. In all the time I’ve known you-”

“What, a month and a half?”

“In all the time I’ve known you,” Steph repeated, glaring at him, “you couldn’t have mentioned that he looks like Danny Zuko and Robert Pattinson’s lovechild?”

“Why would I?” Stiles asked innocently as he octopussed himself around Derek’s torso. “It’s his soul that’s the really beautiful part.”

Then he leaned in and executed a perfect eskimo kiss. Yes. Brilliantly performed. Thank you, Derek for not just looking dubious and sitting completely still as Stiles had his nuzzling way with him.

Steph grabbed at her heart. “Oh my god. I don’t know whether to puke vomit of disgust or vomit of joy. Are you two into threesomes?”

Derek stiffened, and Stiles patted his chest. “Naw, we’re serial monogamists. Have I ever mentioned we’ve been together since I was four? Childhood sweethearts. We held hands on the schoolbus. Had matching backpacks.” Not actually true, but Stiles was enjoying pulling Steph’s leg.

The noise Steph made was something that Stiles suspected could be classified as a squee. He didn’t know they could be made in real life.

“Can I just,” she moaned, pulling her neon green phone out of some hidden pocket in her spandex, “take a picture of you two and put it on my blog? I can’t even handle it.”

Stiles surreptitiously checked Steph’s blog that night, after he’d put Derek to bed (well, sent him into a post-sex coma. Whatever.) Underneath the familiar banner of a lolcat smoking a joint, he found three pictures of him and Derek. There was the posed one, where Derek was smiling semi-uncomfortably and Stiles was leaning awkwardly into the frame with a thumbs up and a hand on Derek’s shoulder, then there were two that Steph had obviously snapped while they weren’t looking, like the perv she was. In one of them, Derek had Stiles half pulled across his lap, and Stiles’ head was thrown back in laughter, because Derek was tickling his stomach. Damn Derek for knowing all of his ticklish spots. Stiles had hoped that getting the bite would cure his chronic susceptibility to tickles, but no, apparently not. The last picture showed Stiles leaning towards the window, face overexposed with sunlight, and Derek watching him with a faint smile. The caption read, in a cursive, turquoise font: “Do you have any idea how much I would give to get somebody to look at me like this? The answer is ALL THE THINGS. ALL. OF. THE. THINGS.”

Stiles closed the laptop and ran a hand over its sticker-covered surface thoughtfully before standing up and collapsing onto the bed, aiming so that he could bury his nose in Derek’s throat.

Derek stirred. “Mmm... Stiles what?”

“Nothing really,” he sighed. “Just... man. There’s luck and then there’s luck, you know?”

“I really don’t.”

“I just love you, alright.”

“Alright,” Derek mumbled, falling back asleep already. “Love you too.”