Derek’s phone buzzes. He looks up from his textbook, wondering which of his friends dares to disturb him while he’s studying for his History final. He sighs, but isn’t surprised when he finds that it’s Stiles.
>> what R U wearing 2 prom?
>> specifically what colour
Derek stares at the texts in confusion. Why does Stiles care about what Derek is wearing to senior prom? Being a junior, Stiles won’t even be there. Unless he has a date. Something twists in Derek’s stomach, but he ignores it in favour of texting Stiles back.
When Derek’s phone starts ringing barely a second after he’s sent the texts, he closes his textbook. He needed a break anyway.
Stiles doesn’t greet him. He rarely does, he simply talks. Not starts to talk, no, Stiles is usually halfway through his ramble by the time Derek picks up.
‘—an’t show up in clashing colours. Like what if I decide to wear yellow, while you’re wearing light blue! Actually, blue would look really good on you, but maybe a darker or middle blue? I don’t think we should both wear blue, even if I have it on good authority that I look great in it.’
Derek listens to Stiles in utter confusion. First, he’s pretty sure he was the one who told Stiles that the colour of his blue hoodie looked nice on him. Second, why does Stiles keep saying “we”?
‘You could wear purple, though,’ Stiles continues, completely oblivious to Derek’s confusion. ‘You would look great in purple. Like, a purple shirt. Or a purple bowtie! That way we’d match if I wore blue. I suggested to Lydia that one of us could wear orange and the other blue, you know, like the Mets, but she told me she would throw me in a wood chipper if we did that.’
‘Uhm, Stiles?’ Derek interrupts when Stiles pauses for breath.
‘Not that I wouldn’t lo— be hon— Not that I don’t think it would be great if we went to prom together, but since when are we actually going to prom together?’
It’s so quiet on the other side of the line, that for a moment Derek thinks Stiles hung up.
‘I… didn’t ask you?’ Before Derek can answer, Stiles continues, ‘Oh my g– I forgot to ask you. Shit, I totally forgot to ask you,’ Stiles whispers, sounding horrified, then hangs up.
Derek blinks at his phone. Slowly, he processes everything that just happened. Stiles wants to go to prom with him. Stiles also seems to be very concerned about what they wear, like he wants to get their picture taken. At Derek’s senior prom. Like Stiles really wants them to look good. Like it’s a memory he wants to treasure for a long time.
Derek runs out of his room, races down the stairs. As he looks for his jacket and car keys, his mom calls out from the kitchen, asking: ‘Aren’t you supposed to be studying?’
‘Stiles,’ is all the explanation Derek gives before running out of the house.
Derek exercises the utmost self-control as he drives to the Stilinski residence. If what he thinks is happening is really happening, it wouldn’t do to get a ticket now.
Nearly vibrating out of skin with nerves, Derek knocks on the door. The Sheriff’s cruiser isn’t parked in the driveway, so Derek takes a step back. Stiles always checks who’s at the door from his window when he’s home alone. Stiles’ curtain sways, and for a moment Stiles is visible. The window is closed, so Derek can’t be sure, but he thinks Stiles just said “fuck”.
After a minute of waiting, Derek realizes Stiles isn’t going to open the door.
<< open up
<< or i climb through your window
Two seconds later, there’s a response.
>> that’s breaking & entering
<< then i suggest you open up
Stiles doesn’t open the door, instead he opens his window. It feels like he’s challenging Derek, that if Derek really wants to talk to him, he’ll find a way up. With practiced ease, Derek climbs the tree in the front yard, jumps onto the roof, then crawls through Stiles’ window. He’s been doing this since he got tall enough to grab the lowest branch, in freshman year.
‘Hey,’ he greets Stiles.
‘Heeey,’ Stiles drawls. He’s standing by his bedroom door, hand inches from the doorknob, like he’s thinking of making a run for it.
‘You were going to ask me to my senior prom?’ Derek asks, deciding to get straight to the point.
‘Why didn’t you?’
Stiles stares down at the floor between them. And while Derek is sure there are all kinds of interesting things to be found in the fibres of Stiles’ carpet, he doubts it’s that fascinating.
‘I guess I got so excited by the thought of us going, that I forgot that I didn’t actually ask you. I’m sorry. We’ll just forget about this whole awkwardness and move on with our lives, right?’
Derek steps forward until he’s toe to toe with Stiles. Stiles is still staring fixedly down.
‘Or, we could figure out what to wear, and then I’ll change my single’s ticket for a couple’s tomorrow,’ Derek says, his heart hammering in his chest.
‘Really?’ Stiles finally looks up. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. His cheeks are bright red. His eyes shine with excitement.
Something brushes against Derek’s hand, and when he looks down he sees Stiles reaching for his hand. He twines their fingers together.
‘Really. You do have to actually ask me, though,’ he says, letting a smirk play on his lips.
Stiles laughs. ‘Derek Hale, will y—’
‘Was this how you were going to ask me originally?’
‘No, there were going to be flowers and—’
Derek cuts him off by pressing their lips together. When he pulls back, Stiles is blinking at him, a look of surprise and awe on his face.
‘Don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.’
Stiles punches him in the arm. ‘You fucker, you know I’m gonna ask you. The surprise is already ruined.’
Derek shakes his head and smiles.
‘I want the flowers and whatever else you had planned.’ Derek knows Stiles well enough that it’s going to be over the top, and so corny it’ll probably be embarrassing for both of them, but he doesn’t care. ‘I want the whole nine yards.’
‘Fine. You better say yes, though.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Derek laughs and kisses Stiles again when Stiles glares at him. ‘I’ll take care of everything for prom night. You just have to look pretty. And wear blue.’
Derek’s phone stops them from kissing again. It’s his mom, asking if Stiles is okay. Derek quickly texts back that everything’s fine.
‘I should go. I have finals to study for,’ Derek says. Reluctantly, he walks to the window, keeping hold of Stiles’ hand.
He’s half out the window, when Stiles tugs on his hand and Derek looks back.
‘Good luck tomorrow,’ Stiles says, then swoops in to press a kiss against Derek’s cheek. Derek nods and lets go of Stiles’ hand to climb down.
He really hopes he can focus when he gets back home, and not be distracted by visions of bright brown eyes and the feeling of soft lips pressing against his.