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The bookstore sat in between the bank and the pharmacy; short, squat and out of place. From the outside looking in, it was a very ordinary sort of place on a very ordinary sort of street. An ageing red brick building with a wide store front window that was half covered by a bookshelf, and a very grand-looking black door with a well-used brass knob placed in the middle. It is outside this bookstore where we meet our fearless hero. Alright, maybe not fearless. Okay, maybe he’s a little less than heroic, but he is the centre of our story so we should be nice to him, shouldn’t we? Anyway.
Walking down a foreign street in an unfamiliar city, Stiles searches for refuge from the bitter November cold. He’s not quite sure how he ended up here, stumbling through the streets of New York City at 5am before the sun has even risen, when less than a week ago he was still back home in Beacon Hills just waiting for his real life to begin. Fresh out of college at BHU, Stiles always dreamed of moving to the big city and making a life for himself. Sure, leaving his dad wasn’t easy, but the Sheriff had Melissa now, and it wasn’t like they didn’t talk on the phone at every spare moment anyway.
Stiles knows that he was lucky, he had worked like a dog through college, enduring the most degrading of jobs in order to make just enough money to scrape by until he caught his big break. His big break which was going to begin in a matter of hours. Shit.
Stiles abruptly realises that as this barrage of overwhelming thoughts had hit him, he has stopped walking, his feet coming to a standstill on the uneven pavement. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to block out the panic that is tightening his chest before exhaling in a long, slow breath. Calm down, he thinks to himself, this could be the start of something amazing. This could be the beginning of the rest of your life.
“Are you alright?” A voice sounds from in front of Stiles, startling him from his thoughts. His eyes shoot open in shock before settling upon the figure in front of him.
Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat as his bleary eyes rake up the body of the man in front of him. Dark jeans. Black leather jacket. The man is built like Adonis, all lean muscle, pulling tight the fabric of his forest green Henley, and then there’s his face. High, chiselled cheek bones and a sharp, beautifully sculpted jaw dusted with dark stubble to match the thick, dark eyebrows which are currently drawn together in obvious concern for Stiles’ wellbeing. But, however stunning these features are, they’re not what causes the tightness in Stiles’ chest to reappear tenfold. It’s the eyes. An impossible colour, Stiles thinks. They’re breath taking, deep and clear, a beautiful vibrant green only made brighter by the man’s dark appearance.
“Uhh…” Stiles drawls unintelligibly, feeling his jaw drop in to its default gawp before he remembers his training. By training, he means the years he has spent as a close friend of the stunning Lydia Martin, conditioning himself not to turn in to a drooling idiot when faced with beautiful people. Stiles clears his throat, willing his voice to hold.
“Yeah,” he says, the calmness of his voice surprising him, “Sorry, I’m not quite with it yet. Actually, I’m not sure I even know where I am. I only just moved here.”
Considering how utterly beautiful the man is, Stiles is quite taken aback when he is offered a sheepish, almost shy half-smile.
“Ah, well, I was just about to start my shift at the bookstore,” the man begins before gesturing with his hand towards the red brick building, “There’s a 24-hour café inside if you wanted a coffee to, uh, make you a little more ‘with it’?” The half-smile is still adorning those perfectly full lips, and Stiles can’t help but think that it is so unfair that this guy can pull off drop dead gorgeous and sickeningly adorable at the same time. Stiles grins back at the man, hoping to convey the intense happiness that the words “coffee” and “bookstore” had brought him.
“No. Way. A 24-hour bookstore? With coffee? I think I just discovered heaven on earth in New York,” he gushes before having to stifle a large yawn, “also, do you have the wherewithal to inject the caffeine straight in to my bloodstream? Like an IV line or something? Because, technically I haven’t slept yet and, well, if it hasn’t happened yet I don’t see it happening any time in the near future, I can never sleep in the day time. It just won’t happen; I get distracted too easily.”
The man seems slightly taken aback by the litany of words that had just come from Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles begins bracing himself for the usual “Wow, you talk a lot,” or, “Why are you so hyperactive?” that he gets from people who don’t know him. Stiles, himself, is slightly taken aback when instead of this reaction, the man’s lips quirk up at the corner into an absolutely devastating smirk, which has Stiles’ breath catching in his throat for the second time in as many minutes.
“I’ll see what I can do,” the man quips, smirk transforming back in to the same shy half-smile as if he had suddenly realised that his expression had changed, “you’d better follow me then.”
With that, the man moves to walk past Stiles before entering the bookstore and Stiles definitely does not stare at his butt as he walks away. How dare you even suggest such a thing, you heathen. He does, however, glance up at the sign hanging outside the store. A large black paw print is painted upon a white surface, and a human hand print formed in negative white space within the paw, and the words “Brew Bear Books” arching over the claws at the top. Stiles smiled to himself, taking one final long breath before walking to the large black door and pushing it open with a faint *ding* overhead.
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The sight that greets Stiles when he enters the bookstore is not what he expected from its outward appearance. The door is on the left side of the storefront, and from the moment Stiles steps through it all he can see was…well, books. To his left the whole wall of the store is made up of one large floor-to-ceiling bookcase and to his right shorter, shoulder-high bookcases make up a walkway that leads to a door on the far wall of the store. On the right side, a few metres in, there is a gap between the bookcases, and through it Stiles can see a few tables and chairs. The gap opens in to a large room, its walls lined with bookcases and Stiles steps into it, trying to take in his surroundings. Along the back wall stands the counter, a long bar with a few stools, a pastry display case and a large silver coffee machine. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see a coffee machine in his life.
Just as Stiles opens his mouth to call out and see where the beautiful man has gone to, a head pops up from behind the counter. The woman who stands before him is terrifying. Beautiful, but terrifying. Her long, dark hair is scraped back in to a ponytail which only accentuates her high cheekbones and strong jawline. Even from where Stiles stands half way across the room he can easily see the mischief in her clear hazel eyes. Her full, red-painted lips are curled in to an almost predatory smile and Stiles can’t help but feel like a rabbit being watched by a wolf; wide-eyed and terrified.
“Well, hello there.” She speaks in a flirtatious, saccharine voice which Stiles can tell is not her usual tone. She rests her elbow on the counter, setting her head in the palm of her hand and leaning forward almost provocatively as she drags her eyes appraisingly up Stiles’ body, before narrowing her eyes slightly as if she were trying to figure something out. Stiles definitely feels like prey. He is abruptly ripped from his thoughts by a hurried thud-thud-thud, the unmistakable sound of someone running down stairs. The door in the back-right corner of the shop next to the counter swings open revealing a flight of stairs and the beautiful man from the street at the bottom of them looking just as terrified as Stiles feels. He gives Stiles a quick glance before turning to the woman behind the counter, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“Laura,” the man exclaims with an air of nonchalance that Stiles can see straight through. His voice sounds strained, as if he were just as nervous as he looked; which, in the presence of the feral/beautiful woman – Laura – would not surprise Stiles in the slightest. “Thank you so much for covering for Erica. I can take over from here if you want to clock out, I’m sure you’re tired.” The man seems to be well practiced in avoiding Laura’s searching gaze. Her predatory smile only grows larger and toothier as she takes in the avoidant man in front of her, her eyes flicking momentarily towards Stiles before settling back on her co-worker.
“Wow, Derek! Speaking in whole sentences, not glaring, being pleasant, what’s gotten in to you I wonder?” As she speaks, her eyes flick once again towards Stiles, her stare lingering a little longer before looking back at her co-worker who is now, indeed, scowling angrily at her. The expression was gone almost as quickly as it appeared as the man’s eyes mirror the movement of Laura’s, his face softening whilst his eyes linger on Stiles.
Derek. Stiles juggles the name around in his mind for a moment before deciding that he likes the way that it sounded; he can definitely imagine moaning that loud and unashamedly. Wait, what? A blush begins to spread up Stiles’ neck and over his face at the thought he’d just had. Derek, however, takes in Stiles’ embarrassed expression and furrows his brow apologetically.
“Sorry,” he speaks so softly that Stiles is straining to hear him, “I’m Derek, and this is my sister, Laura. We own this place together.” Pride is rolling off Derek in waves, not smug or self-important, he just seems so pleased with this little slice of Stiles’ own personal heaven which he owned. Derek turns to his sister, saying, “Laura, this is –” he pauses, realising that he hasn’t actually asked the smaller man for his name yet.
“Stiles,” he supplies helpfully, offering a smirk at Laura’s slightly confused yet inquisitive expression. “It’s a nickname I got when I was a kid, my actual first name is Polish and it’s a mouthful. Kind of impossible to pronounce. Honestly, it’s my name and I’m not even sure I can say it right. Nobody uses it, not even my dad. Everybody calls me Stiles because my last name is Stilinski. Hell, every August since my freshman year of junior high I would hack in to the school’s registration system and change my name to Stiles.” He chuckles to himself at the memories, a wide grin splitting his face.
“Good times.” Stiles looks up to find Derek staring at him slightly slack-jawed, and Laura glancing at her brother with an amused smirk on her lips. He clears his throat roughly, his face dropping entirely and giving way to a sheepish, self-deprecating smile. “Uh – sorry. I tend to talk a lot. Bad habit,” he says, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck nervously.
“Uh, n-no! No,” Derek flounders, eyes going wide, as if suddenly realising that he had been staring. “I didn’t mean to- I mean you just- Uhh…” Laura’s snort of laughter breaks both Stiles and Derek from their embarrassed musings.
“Derek isn’t really a talker,” Laura says, ignoring Derek’s embarrassed noise of protest, “he’s a growl-er. And a listener. You talk a lot. Derek likes people who talk a lot. It means he doesn’t have to talk as much,” she spoke in short, sharp sentences, as if he would be easily confused, before a wolfish smile spread across her red lips. “-and you, damn, you talk with your whole body, don’t you, honey?” She croons, giving Stiles another appreciative once-over.
“Laura,” Derek warns in a stern voice which totally did not turn Stiles on, not at all. “Don’t objectify the customers, its rude, creepy and unprofessional.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, sounding very much like she had heard this speech before, “but just you wait until Erica meets him. There are going to be fights over this one,” she winks at Stiles who simply raises an eyebrow at her, but before Derek could protest, she speaks again, “anyway, I’m out. See you later baby brother. And Stiles, dear, feel free to drop by any time at all, like in the evenings when I’ll be here, alone.” With that, she grabs her jacket from behind the counter, breezing past Stiles and out the door.
Stiles is still staring at the space behind the counter where Laura had once stood. He knows that his mouth is slightly agape, and that his eyebrows are probably furrowed in to an expression of confusion mixed with fear. The sound of Derek awkwardly clearing his throat breaks Stiles from his stupor. He turns to see Derek awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, a blush tinting the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks with the most beautiful pink colour that Stiles has ever seen. Derek opens his mouth to speak and Stiles knows – he just knows – that he is about to apologise, but Stiles doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Derek to be sorry for anything.
“Why do I get the feeling that I don’t really want to meet Erica?” Stiles says in a jovial tone. Derek’s eyes snap up to Stiles, who shoots him a coy grin in return. And then something beautiful happens. Derek laughs. His laugh doesn’t bark out like Stiles’ own does. It doesn’t continuously bubble away like his dad’s does. No. It’s a laugh like rain. It starts as a quiet huff of air that escalates to a warm, throaty chuckle before finally the heavens open and Derek is laughing loudly and with complete abandon. His head thrown back, his hand covering his eyes, and Stiles is drowning. He knows his own grin is probably manic-looking, but in that moment, he can’t really give a damn.
“So, how do you take your coffee?”
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After Derek makes him a cup of (frankly, pretty amazing) coffee, Stiles slowly begins to feel more like a human being, and less like a zombie. With this newfound energy comes words, and lots of them. Stiles can’t help but feel relaxed around Derek, like he isn’t being judged for being nosey or loud or hyperactive. Stiles can’t help but feel like he wants to know all that he can about Derek.
“So, a coffee shop bookstore, huh? How’d you come in to owning a place like this, man, it’s awesome!” Stiles asks, eyes scanning the shelves around the room, one hand clutching his coffee and the other tracing over the spines of the books lining the case closest to the counter, a private smile adorning his face. If he were looking, Stiles would see Derek’s own lips curve in to a reverent smile as he watches Stiles.
“Thanks,” Derek huffs a laugh and Stiles turns away from the books to face him. “Uh, well, I got a degree in English Literature from NYU a few years back and I sorta freaked out when I left because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I moved in with Laura, who was working as a lawyer at the time and got a job in the NYU library.”
“Oh my god I can’t imagine you as a librarian!” Stiles laughs out, “Please tell me you wore slacks and a cardigan. Oh, my god, do you wear glasses? That would be so adorable!” He rambles, watching as that beautiful blush once again works its way up Derek’s neck and on to his ears and cheeks. Stiles decides to change the subject. “Also, Laura as a lawyer? She seems like a sexual harassment lawsuit just waiting to happen.”
“Yeah, she’s loosened up a lot in the last few years. Sometimes I think a little too much.” Derek says, huffing that small laugh which has Stiles grinning. “Laura hated her job, always felt that she’d made a mistake, and I wasn’t much better, wallowing in my own misery with no idea what to do with my life.
“One day about three years ago we both had a day off at the same time, we got in to Laura’s car and just drove out of the city until we ran out of gas. Broke down in a small town outside the city limits and stopped in a little coffee shop there to wait for a tow truck, just people watching. It was a kinda beat up place, you know, mismatching furniture and old equipment, but everyone in there looked so happy. All the workers knew the clients by name, they were all regulars and everyone was smiling, like it was a home away from home. That’s when Laura and I decided to open a café.” Derek speaks softly, a wistful smile on his lips and Stiles finds that once again he cannot help but stare.
“Wow, man. That’s such a beautiful story, it sounds like something from a movie. Doesn’t explain the books, though.” Stiles knows there probably wasn’t more to it than just Derek having a love of books, having already said he worked in a library, but Stiles just doesn’t want Derek to stop talking.
“Ah, well, that’s a much longer story.” Derek still speaks softly, but his smile is now tinged with a sadness that Stiles can hardly bare. He decides that he never want to see Derek sad again. Nope, never.
“Hey, it’s okay, man. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, I’m pretty sure I can talk enough for the both of us. But, you know, I’ll definitely listen, if you want me to. Your sister said you’re a listener but, I’m sure that sometimes even listeners need someone to talk to. You know, someone who will, uh, listen.” Stiles knows he’s rambling again, but honestly, Derek gaping at him as he had the last time Stiles rambled would be a billion times better than Derek looking sad.
“No, no, it’s okay.” Derek says, his eyes flitting over Stiles’ face and his smile brightening slightly. “Laura’s always saying that I need to talk about it more.”
So, Derek talks, and Stiles listens.
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Okay, so, Derek talks for a while and Stiles does listen, but once Derek is done with his story it turns in to more of a conversation. As it turns out, Derek and Laura’s parents died in a car accident when they were teenagers. Coming from a wealthy family, they inherited a bunch of money from insurance, as well as their family home which contained an extensive private library. When he and Laura decided to open the café, Derek concluded that embracing his love of literature and selling books from the private library would be a great way to attract more customers, and also to stay close to his parents who both loved books. So, they sorted through the collection and removed anything of sentimental value (story books their parents used to read them as kids, a first edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy that their mother had bought their father for an anniversary) before moving it all to their new café. Stiles thinks it’s beautiful, romantic and definitely does not sigh dreamily throughout Derek’s story.
Stiles can tell that talking about his parents is not easy for Derek, so he decides that the best thing would be to talk animatedly about himself, his friends and family until Derek forgets about his sadness and maybe smiles that beautiful smile again. So, Stiles talks. He talks about his dad the Sheriff, he talks about his best friend Scott, who’s mum Melissa is now with Stiles’ dad which is just so cool, Derek, it’s like were real brothers. He talks about his home town of Beacon Hills, and about his major in Criminal Justice and about his minor in Mythological Studies. He even talks about his own mom, who died when he was a kid. And Derek listens. Derek listens to every word, smiling, nodding and asking the occasional question, not at all looking at Stiles like he’s crazy or like he should shut up. Derek is unlike anyone Stiles has ever met before.
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In theory, Stiles knows that he and Derek have been talking for quite a while. Their conversation has progressed from their favourite books to their favourite music and through some very odd transition on to their childhood pets. However, it still catches Stiles by surprise when he feels the warm rays of the morning sun warming the back of his neck through the café windows.
“Woah, dude, when did the sun come up?” Stiles says, bewildered after an anecdote about his childhood cat, Whiskers. Derek chuckles before answering.
“Over an hour ago, it’s almost 8am.” Derek says after checking the time, eyes wide in surprise as if he, too, had thought it was still much earlier.
“8am? Really? Already?” Stiles stammers out, because 8am seriously, he only had 4 hours before it was time, before his fate was decided and he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t, he wasn’t. Stiles can feel his chest tightening, his breath coming shallower and the lightheaded feeling he dreads seeping in.
“Stiles? Stiles!” He can vaguely hear Derek calling his name, but the sound was being drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest. Stiles can feel the tell-tale shaking in his hands, and then in his knees and oh, since when is he on the floor.
Before he can register what is happening, large, strong hands are manoeuvring him so that his back is propped up against a bookshelf. His head is swimming, large black spots dancing across his vision as he desperately tries to control his frantic breathing.
“Stiles. Hey, Stiles, you’re okay. That’s it, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe, everything is fine. Everything is okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Derek. Stiles can hear Derek’s voice breaking through the rushing, can almost make out his blurry shape over him. He just keeps talking and talking, reassuring words in Stiles’ ears. Derek takes Stiles’ hand and presses the palm to his chest.
“Just breathe with me. That’s it. Good, come on, Stiles. You’re fine, I’ve got you, just breathe.” Stiles can hear the worry in Derek’s voice and wants so desperately to tell him that’s he would be fine, that he’s used to this, but he can’t find it in him to speak. In an attempt to communicate, he curls his trembling fingers in to Derek’s shirt, fisting it and squeezing tight to try and quell the shaking. Somehow, Derek seems to understand the signal.
“That’s it, good, good. Just breathe, Stiles. Please, please, just breathe.” Derek whispers, sounding rather breathless himself. He raises his hand and slides it along Stiles’ cheek, cupping his jaw and stroking with his thumb, attempting to calm the younger man. As soon as Stiles feels the warm, callused palm on his face he leans in to the comfort, closing his eyes and instantly feeling better. He’s still trembling like a leaf, but his breath is beginning to come easier. They stay like that for what could have been minutes or hours before Stiles feels able to speak.
“I’m so sorry,” Stiles says, taking a breath, eyes still closed. “That must have been so-” Gasp. “-strange to see me just-” Pant. “-go off like that at nothing.” Swallow.
“Stiles, look at me,” Derek speaks softly, using the hand what was still on Stiles’ jaw to turn his face towards him, “Don’t you ever apologise for something like that. Ever. It’s not your fault, okay?” He waits for Stiles’ feeble nod before continuing. “I just wish that I could have been of more help. Let me go get you a glass of water.”
The moment Derek stands to go behind the counter Stiles misses his warmth. He takes a few moments to collect himself, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with still-trembling fingers, trying to breathe as steadily as possible to prevent a relapse. When Derek returns, he holds a tall glass of water, and it is only now that Stiles can truly make out Derek’s face. His chiselled features are contorted with concern, his brows pulled together in a distressed frown and his beautiful, captivating eyes are filled with so much worry that Stiles’ heart could break.
“Thanks,” Stiles says when Derek hands him the water, his voice rough and dry from his gasping breaths. “Thanks for everything. What you did right then – talking me down – that’s not an easy thing to do. Scotty and I have been best friends for two decades and even he struggles.” He continues, not quite finding it in himself to meet Derek’s worry-filled eyes again. “Uh, so, yeah. Thanks.”
“It’s fine,” Derek says softly, “any time.” And Stiles believes him. “Do you- Uh. Do you mind if I asked what triggered it? Did I say something wrong?” If Stiles thought that Derek’s voice was soft before, it was nothing compared to the way he speaks that final question. It is so soft that Stiles can barely register what it was Derek is saying, but when he does, his head shoots up to meet Derek’s apologetic gaze.
“NO! No, no, not at all, you’re amazing!” Stiles blurts in his hurry to reassure Derek. Stiles doesn’t wait to catalogue Derek’s reaction before attempting to distract him with more words. “I just didn’t realise that it was so late already and today is a really big day for me. Like, crazy big. I’ve been freaking out about it for weeks, hence the no sleep and the walking through an unfamiliar neighbourhood before sunrise. I guess when we were talking I actually relaxed for a while and kinda forgot all about it until I realised the time and then all the panic hit me at once. It happens, man, totally not your fault.”
“Oh…” Derek is silent for a moment. Stiles knows he’s probably just digesting the masses of information that had just been thrown at him, but the silence puts him on edge right up until he can visibly see the creases of worry smoothing from Derek’s face. The man smiles at Stiles, but the worry is still evident in his eyes as he offers Stiles his hand to help him stand. “What’s so important about today? Uh, if you don’t mind me asking.”
The expression on Derek’s face is so open, genuinely intrigued but still full of concern, and Stiles kind of wants to write poems about it. He takes Derek’s hand, using it to haul himself to his feet before plopping on to a stool by the counter. He valiantly ignores the hand that Derek places on the small of his back to help steady him and the waves of warmth that it sends spreading through his body.
“Well, I probably should have led with this really but, uh…” Stiles laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an author. More accurately, I’m trying to become an author. In case you didn’t notice I have some serious ADHD going on which, you know, can make concentrating in lectures pretty hard. I had a pretty bad habit of daydreaming in class because most of the time I’d already read the material and I didn’t need to hear the same thing again.
“One day I just decided to write it down, like, whatever my brain would dream up to occupy me. By the time I completed my degree I had finished drafts for 3 novels in a series and had 2 plots for sequels. I moved to NYC hoping to catch a break, sent my first book draft in to a publisher and they want to meet me today at 11 o’clock. Man, I’m terrified.”
Derek stands behind the counter patiently listening to Stiles recount the steps which brought him to where he is today. He nods, his eyes following the movement of Stiles’ hands as he speaks, a grin breaking out on his face when Stiles tells of the publishers’ interest in his book. Stiles himself still isn’t entirely sure that this is not a daydream itself. Publishers are interested in his writing. He has his own place in New York (granted, it was tiny and he can only afford it for another couple months if he doesn’t get this gig, but it’s still his). He met Derek. Derek who is beautiful, kind, intelligent, and just about everything Stiles had always wanted but had never dared to hope for.
“Stiles, that’s amazing!” Derek exclaims, grinning at Stiles. “The fact that they’ve even asked to meet with you shows that they’re really interested in your work, you should be proud of yourself.” He says, his voice and expression softening towards the end. “I’ve always wanted to write a book, but I don’t think I have the imagination for it. I love reading, though, more than anything. I always feel a bit sad saying ‘books are my life’, but it’s the truth.”
“Wow. Thanks, Derek. That really means a lot.” Stiles replies with a shy smile, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I know how you feel, though, about books being your life. I swear more often than not I speak using quotes from my favourite books, just hoping that someone will understand the reference and we can be instant best friends.”
“’Friendship is born at the moment when one man says to another ‘What! You too? I thought that no one but myself’’.” Derek speaks with conviction, although his brow is furrowed as he tried to recollect the exact wording of the quote he once read.
“C. S. Lewis?” Stiles asks unsurely, although he is certain that he has read that before. Derek looks in to Stiles’ eyes across the counter, a wide grin breaking out on his face as he nods, and Stiles can’t help but grin equally wide in answer. They stand there for a fair few moments grinning at each other before Stiles remembers the time.
“Listen, Derek, thank you for everything. It’s been amazing meeting you and getting to know you but I think I really should be going. I need to try and find my way back to my apartment to get ready for my meeting, but I’ll definitely be back soon.” Stiles says, trying to convey his gratefulness to Derek, and get across the fact that he really wants to see Derek again soon. Derek’s smile begins to fall from his face as Stiles speaks, but he catches himself before it was gone.
“Where do you live? I could easily close up the shop for a little while to give you a ride home, especially seeing as you don’t know where you’re going.” Derek says with a hopeful tone to his voice, and Stiles simply won’t let himself try to analyse what that might mean. “I wouldn’t want you getting lost and being late for your meeting.”
“Yeah, man, that would be awesome! But only if you’re sure about closing the shop, I wouldn’t want you to lose any business.”
Derek waves Stiles off before coming out from behind the counter and heading back up the stairs, which Stiles assumes lead to his apartment. When Derek came back down he is clutching a set of keys and wearing the most sinful black leather jacket. Stiles has never thought himself much in to the whole black-leather-beardy-biker look but dang does Derek rock it.
“Ready?” Derek grins, and Stiles is helpless to do anything but nod and grin in return.
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Derek leads Stiles out of the store and towards his car, locking the door behind him. The ride to Stiles’ apartment can’t have been much more than 10 minutes or so, and the silence is filled as Derek excitedly asks Stiles questions about the plot of his novel. Stiles tells Derek how almost all of the characters in the book are based upon his friends from his home town, with the main character being based upon Scott. He tells him how he once went searching for a dead body in the woods with Scott after hearing about it on his police scanner, yes, Derek, I have one, I like to know what’s going on, okay. He tells Derek how that night he had a really weird dream about Scotty being bitten in the woods and turning into a werewolf, then for some reason his brain decided that his Criminal Psych lecture would be the perfect time to remind him of this. Stiles rambles about how he basically rewrote his and Scott’s high school experience but with supernatural creatures and crazy bad guys.
Before Stiles knows it, they are outside his building, sat in the stationary car as he rants to Derek about how the first two books are really intense but they’re nothing, Derek, nothing compared to book three. Man, if it ever gets published the readers are going to hate me. I even hate myself a little, damn.
“I’m telling you, this meeting is going to be the start of really big things for you. I just know it.” Derek sounds so sincere when he speaks that Stiles can feel the blush creeping up his neck in response.
“Thank you, so much. And, thank you for the ride.” Stiles smiles at Derek from his seat in the car. Derek has a soft, genuine smile tugging at his lips and God, does Stiles want to kiss him. But, Stiles also feels that this, whatever this is he felt with Derek, is real, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to rush it. Stiles climbs out of the car, then leans back through the open door. “How about I come back to the store tomorrow? I’ll tell you all about how my meeting went, and you can make me some more of that life-saving coffee.”
The transformation in the expression on Derek’s face in that moment is something that Stiles thinks he has only ever read about in cheesy romance novels. Derek’s smile, once soft and small, breaks out in to a full grin, and Stiles is sure that the world just got 3 shades brighter.
“Promise?” Derek says, his voice lightly teasing, but his face still showing such unadulterated joy that Stiles can’t really care.
“Promise.”
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Stiles keeps his promise. It’s almost midday before Stiles is able to drag himself out of his bed to shower, change and head to the bookstore. Don’t judge him, he had been awake for a seriously long time. The meeting had been amazing, and Stiles can’t wait to share it with Derek. After calling his dad and Scott the day before, Stiles had all but passed out from exhaustion, but from the moment he woke up all he could think about was going to see Derek.
The bell above the door sounds a now-familiar ding when Stiles enters the bookstore. He rounds the corner in to the café with an open grin on his face, he feels like he is practically buzzing with anticipation. His smile falls slightly when he looks towards the counter to see a pretty woman with long blonde curls. Definitely not Derek.
“Well, look what we have here,” she says as she unabashedly runs her eyes all over Stiles’ body, flicking her tongue across her teeth as she does so, looking as if she were going to eat him whole, “a new customer. I’m sure I would have remembered someone like you in a dump like this.”
She drags out her words in a sweet, seductive tone which kind of makes Stiles’ skin crawl. Her wolfish smile very much reminds him of Laura’s from the previous day, the same red-lipped grin with far too many teeth to be considered entirely non-threatening. Although, none of that really compares to the sting of righteous anger he feels at her final words.
“This place is not a dump!” Stiles hisses angrily. After hearing Derek speak yesterday, telling him the beautiful story of how this place came to be, of the love he has for the books and the happiness he has found in doing something he really loves, Stiles truly feels that comfort and hope exude from the shelves themselves. How dare she call this place a dump.
“I don’t mean to offend, sweet cheeks,” she says in that same saccharine voice, although Stiles got the impression that she doesn’t feel particularly sorry, “I’m obviously just not as in to books as you are. Although, if you like, I could tell you all about some other things I’m in to.”
“Where’s Derek?” Stiles blurts. He can tell he looks like a tomato and, honestly, he’s absolutely terrified of this woman. He just wants to see Derek and he does not want to know what she’s in to. Stiles looks at her, waiting for her reply before he sees a small flash of – recognition? Realisation? – cross her face.
“Derek, huh?” she says, her eyes once again running over Stiles’ form. “I’ll get right on that for you.” She opens the door leading to the staircase, but before she ascends she turned to face Stiles once again. “What did you say your name was, sweet cheeks?”
“I didn’t. It’s Stiles.” he says sheepishly. She gives him another frightening grin before bounding up the stairs.
/\ /\ /\ /\
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“Stiles!” Derek exclaims when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, a grin tugging at his lips. The blonde girl follows him in shortly after, a smug expression on her face as her eyes flick between the two of them with obvious interest.
“Well, Der, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here? He really is just as delicious as Laura told me.” That feral grin once again spreads across her lips, and Stiles once again finds himself feeling like prey.
“Erica,” Derek admonishes sternly, his eyebrows dropped in to an angry-looking glare, “why don’t you take your break now? I don’t need you accosting my customers, it’s bad for business, not to mention rude as hell.”
“Yes, Boss.” She speaks cheerfully as she grabbed her jacket from behind the counter. “See you soon, sweet cheeks.”
The use of the nickname makes Stiles shudder as she breezes past him and out of the store. Stiles looks at Derek, who’s expression has dramatically softened. He looks just as breathtakingly beautiful as he had the day before in a soft looking maroon sweater and blue jeans.
“How did I know I wasn’t going to enjoy meeting Erica?” Stiles says with a cheeky smirk. Derek laughed in reply, just as open and unabashed as he had the day before causing Stiles to smile wider. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Derek says softly, almost reverently as he grins at Stiles. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Derek turns to the coffee maker and starts preparing Stiles’ drink. Stiles can’t help but watch the play of muscles in Derek’s arms and back as me moves, the concentration on his face, the way the artificial light in the store illuminates his kaleidoscope eyes. In those minutes of awed silence, filled only by the noise of the coffee machine, Stiles could easily believe that they are the only people on the planet. He is broken from his reverie when Derek places his coffee on the counter before him.
“So, how was your meeting? Sit, tell me all about it. I’ve been dying to know how it went as soon as I dropped you off yesterday.” The excitement in Derek’s voice is palpable and Stiles has practically forgotten why he had come today other than to see Derek. It seems that Stiles being distracted by Derek may become a regular occurrence.
“Oh, yes! Derek, it was amazing!” Stiles tells Derek how the publisher was this crazy looking guy with dark hair which stood on end, sticking in every direction. His name was Finstock, and he gushed about how much he just loved Stiles’ book. Stiles tells Derek how they had given him a cheque just to “help with his creative process”, which was enough money to cover his rent for over a year.
“They’ve given me back a copy of the transcript with the editors’ notes, so I need to go back through and make some changes, but they want it to be ready for publication soon so that they can have it ready for a Christmas release. How crazy is that, Derek? Me, an actual published author? Things are really starting to go my way,” Stiles says, his long fingers curled around his coffee mug. His eyes sparkle and a more private smile tugs at his lips as he looks into his cup.
“Congratulations, Stiles, that’s fantastic! Your friends and family must be so proud. Hell, I know I’m proud of you,” Derek replies. The joy on Derek’s face and the elation in his voice send a tingle shooting down Stiles’ spine. It isn’t arousal, or anything close, but the unadulterated feeling of being truly appreciated by someone you care about.
“You talk about them as if you aren’t already one of them,” Stiles says softly, a crooked smile on his lips.
“I am?” Derek practically whispers, his soft voice breathy and quiet.
“Of course,” Stiles replies, looking up through his lashes to meet Derek’s gaze, “I’m pretty sure that if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have even made it to that meeting yesterday. Hell, you talked me down from a panic attack, I’ve known people my whole life who can’t do that.”
Derek’s smile only grows. “'It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone- '”
“’Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others’,” Stiles finishes. “Jane Austen, one of my favourites.”
“Mine, too,” Derek grins.
/\ /\ /\ /\
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Stiles ends up going to the bookstore a lot in the next few weeks. The way he sees it, sitting alone in his apartment trying to edit this manuscript is not going to be productive. He’ll work in a haze of sub-par instant coffee, Reese’s peanut butter cups and minimal human interaction until either the manuscript is finished, or he passes out from exhaustion. Unhealthy. Going to the bookshop, he can get good coffee, more substantial food, and human interaction. Oh, and the staff won’t let him pass out on their floor. And, maybe, if he visits every day, and the visits have less to do with his health and more to do with the absolutely stunning man who owns the place, well, he can deny that’s why he’s there because he has real reasons, too, goddamn it.
Every single morning, Stiles turns up at the shop, tired and in need of caffeine, to see a smiling Derek behind the counter already making his coffee just the way he likes it. Some part of him thinks that life can’t really get much better than it is at the moment.
“So, when can I read it?” Derek asks as he leans over the counter to place Stiles’ coffee next to his open laptop.
“When it’s finished,” Stiles replies, a teasing smirk on his lips and his eyes trained stubbornly on his screen.
“You always say that,” Derek huffs, turning his back to make Stiles’ breakfast pancakes.
“That’s because you always ask. Like, every day,” Stiles grinned, looking up to watch Derek work. Yes, he thinks, life can’t get much better than this.
/\ /\ /\ /\
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“Dereeeeekkkkk,” Stiles whines.
“Yes, Stiles?” Derek replies, looking up from his book to glance at Stiles over the rims of his glasses. The image totally doesn’t make Stiles want to kiss him stupid.
“I’m huuungrrrrry, make me some foooood, pleeeeease,” Stiles continues to whine, leaning his head on the counter next to his laptop and looking up at Derek sideways.
“I swear there is a black hole in your stomach,” Laura titters from somewhere behind him where she is organising a shelf of new arrivals.
“I made you breakfast not two hours ago. How the hell are you hungry? It’s not even lunchtime,” Derek laughs to himself, putting his bookmark in place so he can start making Stiles food.
“Please, Derek. ‘Time is an illusion. Lunchtime, doubly so’,” Stiles replies, watching Derek’s face with keen eyes for any sign of recognition. What he receives is even more than he had hoped for.
Derek looks up at him slightly startled, before that beautiful huff of air passes through his lips as he starts to laugh. After learning it was Derek’s father’s favourite book, Stiles got himself a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy so that they could talk about it together. It was one of those terrifying moments of clarity, when Stiles realised just how gone he is on this gorgeous man who likes books better than people, (wrongly) thinks that the Dodgers are better than the Mets, and has a laugh like rain.
“Oh, God,” Laura bemoans, “Der, you can stop laughing now, just imagine what it’s doing to his ego.”
“Hey!” Stiles protests, smiling wickedly to himself before continuing, “’If there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.’”
Derek’s laughter only increases, his chuckles getting louder until he’s laughing loudly, head tilted back. Stiles mentally pats himself on the back for making Derek laugh like this once again. He feels just as awe struck as the first time, his insides lighting up at the sight of Derek looking so happy.
“Oh, jeez, have you broken him?” Laura questions, a smile on her lips as she watches Derek laugh, “Der, are you okay?”
“’Don’t Panic’, Laura,” Stiles says, eyes still on Derek despite addressing Laura, “He looks pretty happy to me.”
Derek’s laughter has evolved one again. He is clutching his stomach, one hand supporting himself on the counter, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to breathe between chuckles.
“Yeah, he does,” Laura replies, eyeing Stiles, although he does not see it.
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“Don’t forget the whole milk!” Laura calls to Derek as he pulls on his leather jacket.
“I won’t,” he replies, “be back in 20!”
“’So long, and thanks for all the fish!’,” Stiles shouts, and is rewarded with the sound of Derek’s laughter before the bell signals his exit from the shop.
“So, mind telling me what the hell that was all about?” Laura said, her tone inquisitive but not angry.
“Oh, uh,” Stiles began, “They were quotes from the book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy-”
“I know what they were,” Laura interrupts, “how did you know?”
“Uh, I know that it was your dad’s favourite, and that he used to make jokes from it all the time, so I got a copy and-”
“You read it so that you could make Derek laugh,” Laura finishes for him, a sad smile curving her always-red lips, “how did you know about Dad?”
“Derek told me, once,” Stiles replies, voice low, feeling the grief Laura is exuding.
“What?” Laura says, her voice getting louder and he lifts her head to look at Stiles, eyes wide when she continues, “Wait, Derek told you? He talked to you about our parents? When?”
“Uh, he told me the hitchhikers thing a few weeks ago, not long after we met. But, yeah, he talks about them every so often. Why? Should he- uh, is that not something he should have told me about?” Stiles asks tentatively, worried that Laura is upset, that maybe he’s done something wrong, shouldn’t have tried to bring up the lost memories of their parents.
“No! No, no, Stiles, you’ve got it all wrong,” Laura rambles excitedly, a joyful smile gracing her lips, looking much more puppy than hungry wolf, “this is brilliant! Derek, he doesn’t… He doesn’t talk about our parents, has never been able to, ever since…”
The accident, Stiles’ brain supplies.
“It hit him really hard when we lost Mom and Dad,” Laura sighs, before continuing, “He was getting help for a really long time, but in the end, he just sort of… withdrew in to his books. In stories, good always triumphs over evil, love conquers all, and there is always a happy ending.”
“I wish life were like that,” Stiles mutters to himself, thinking somewhat of his own mother, as well as the tragedies that have befallen Derek and his family.
“So does Derek,” Laura replies. At that, Stiles looks up at her, seeing the conflict of her face before it settles in to something like determination.
“You know, Derek doesn’t talk to people, he’s a very lonely person. He has me, because I’m his sister, he has Erica, because she works here and now, he has you. Derek doesn’t date, either. Never has,” she says, looking up briefly to see Stiles’ fallen face before quickly beginning again, “What I mean to say is, when it comes to matters of the heart, Derek has very high expectations.”
“What does that mean?” Stiles asks, brow furrowed, attention solely on Laura and not on the words lining the screen in front of him.
“All Derek has ever wanted is to be as happy as our parents were,” Laura speaks softly now, Stiles straining to hear her words, “when we opened this place, he was so much better, brighter, I thought that we had finally done it. But, Derek has still been waiting for what our parents had, for the one thing every good story has. True love. I don’t think he’ll ever really be happy until he thinks he’s found it.”
Stiles’ breath hitches at that. Derek believes in true love. Every dream Stiles has ever had for his future contained an unknown someone who he would spend the rest of his days with, happy, together. Now, all Stiles can think of is Derek.
“’You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life’,” Stiles quotes.
“What?” Laura says, tilting her head in confusion.
“It’s Camus,” Stiles replies.
“Oh, God, you are perfect for him,” Laura moans, before her voice softens once again, “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is when you are around. So, I have one final question for you, Stiles. What do you think of true love?”
Silence.
“I think it might look like Derek.”
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With the new knowledge that he’s kind of in love with Derek, Stiles spends the next couple of weeks sat in the store editing his manuscript, and trying to psych himself up enough to ask Derek out, or make a move. Something. Anything.
Before he knows it, his manuscript is complete. Done, finished, sent off to be printed and sold in bookshops across the world. Huh. Funny, how quickly you can finish something when you use it as a means to procrastinate doing something else. The first thing Stiles does, once he has sent the manuscript to Finstock, is print off a copy and head straight to the store for breakfast.
As soon as he steps inside, he knows that something is wrong. The air feels wrong, thick and cloying. When he opens the door, the sound of the bell does not sound as joyful as it usually does, but instead it cuts through the eerie silence like a knife, jarring and harsh.
When he gets to the counter, he is met by a sullen-faced Laura, devoid of her ever-present crimson snarl, looking tired and haggard, dark rings circling her eyes. Stiles opens his mouth to ask one of the many questions on the tip of his tongue, like what happened or are you okay or where is Derek. But, before he has the chance to say anything, Laura has already rounded the counter and wrapped her thin arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.
Stiles stills for a moment, before circling her small frame and rubbing his hand up and down the length of her back soothingly.
“It’s the anniversary today,” she says in a small voice, “of the accident.”
Oh.
Once again, before Stiles has a chance to form any words, Laura is pulling away from him and heading towards to door beside the counter. She opens it to reveal the staircase behind, before turning back to face Stiles.
“Second door on the right,” she says, gesturing to the staircase, “Go to him. Please.”
All Stiles can do is spare her a sympathetic smile and a brief nod before he is all but sprinting up the steps towards Derek.
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The door to the room is closed when Stiles reaches it, the warm wooden panels blocking him from where he truly wants- no, needs to be. He raises his fist to knock, pausing for a moment to collect himself before rapping his knuckles against the wood.
Silence is all that meets him.
The worry that has been building in the pit of Stiles’ stomach since he noticed Derek’s absence begins building further. Is he okay? Please say he’s okay. He knocks again, much more frantically than before.
“Go away, Laura,” comes a quiet voice from inside the room. Derek sounds so small and tired; Stiles just wants to hold him and take it all away.
“Der?” Stiles calls, surprised at how choked up and horse his voice sounds to his own ears. Although, considering how worried and tense he feels right now, he probably shouldn’t be so surprised.
A shuffling sound can be heard from inside the room before the door creaks open. “Stiles?”
The Derek stood before him is unlike any Derek that Stiles has ever seen. He’s barefooted, wearing loose basketball shorts and a white vest underneath a fluffy grey bathrobe. His hair is sticking up at odd angles and Stiles really wants to run his fingers through it. He looks kind of adorable. But, as always, it’s not Derek’s appearance which causes a tightness in Stiles’ chest. It’s his eyes. Bloodshot, red and swollen. The beautiful, impossible colour of Derek’s eyes looks almost dull and lifeless, and Stiles just can’t let that happen, nope, no way.
“Stiles, I’m sorry, you can’t be here, you can’t see me like this. You weren’t supposed to- I didn’t want to look like-” Derek rambles, looking tired, and almost scared, as if he were worried that Stiles would ever want to leave him. He begins back-stepping as he talks, trying to hide himself behind the door and out of Stiles’ view.
Stiles watches Derek stumble over his words, holding his breath, holding himself back until Derek’s words run out and he slumps behind the door, looking so small and weak, almost out of view. It doesn’t take much for Stiles to pitch forwards into the room, push the door open and engulf Derek in his arms, squeezing the other man tightly around the shoulders.
Derek’s breathing is shaky, and Stiles knows the beginning of a panic attack when he hears one. He holds still with his arms around Derek, and decides to do what he does best. He talks.
“Hey,” Stiles begins, “I’m not going anywhere. I know what today is, Derek, I’m up here because I want to be. I don’t care what you look like, I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me, what I do care about is you.”
Derek stills for a moment in the embrace, before wrapping his strong arms around Stiles’ waist and turning his head to press his face in to the crook of Stiles’ neck. He feels Derek sobbing before he hears it, small, sad huffs of air as Derek cries in to the skin of Stiles’ throat. He can feel the tears soaking the neck of his shirt, but he can’t find it in himself to care even a little.
“Shhh,” Stiles coos softly, “It’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you. You don’t ever have to hide yourself from me, Der, not ever. Just let it out, big guy. That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re okay, everything’s okay.”
Stiles keeps muttering encouragements softly in to Derek’s hair until the sobbing subsides. Stiles can feel the weight of Derek in his arms getting heavier as exhaustion starts to take hold of the bigger man.
“Hey, Der, do you wanna lie down, maybe?” Stiles says softly, pulling back from the embrace slightly so that he can see Derek properly.
Derek avoids Stiles’ eyes, opting to look down at where their torsos are still touching before nodding slowly and turning to flop down on the bed, curling himself up in to the foetal position but not yet pulling up the blankets.
“Uh.. Did you wanna- Did you want me to leave?” Stiles stumbles, stood at the side of the bed throwing his hands around. He doesn’t want to leave Derek, but he doesn’t want to make Derek uncomfortable, either.
Rather than responding, Derek looks up at Stiles very briefly, still managing to pull off his are you stupid look through the swollen, red eyes. He reaches for Stiles’ hand before pulling him down on to the mattress behind him. Stiles flails gracelessly as he lands on the mattress before strong hands are pulling him up by his arm and folding him around Derek’s back.
Stiles is spooning Derek. He takes a moment to let that sink in, the warmth of Derek pushed against him, before the silence becomes too much for him and he has to break it.
“What do you want me to do? I’ll do whatever you think will make you feel better,” Stiles whispers, and he means every word of it.
“Talk,” Derek replies, his is voice rough and quiet, but Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to hear one word.
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Stiles talks. No change there. For the next few hours, he talks about the news, and the book that he just finished which you should really read, Der, it’s got dragons and everything. He eventually gets around to telling Derek that he finished his manuscript, and obliges to read the first few chapters aloud but no, Der, you’re not keeping this copy, you get the first edition instead. Promise.
Derek remains silent throughout, although he listens. Stiles is sure of this, because whenever he looks to Derek for a response, he nods, and he pulls on Stiles arm when he wants him to carry on reading, and, well, that’s more than enough for Stiles to understand he should keep talking.
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After a few hours, despite Derek’s head shaking that no, he’s not hungry, Stiles goes down and gets a couple of sandwiches from Laura, who looked surprised in a pleased sort of way.
Stiles is propped up with his back against the headboard whilst he eats, and is quite happy when Derek makes it half way through his sandwich before he stops. Derek slides down the mattress and curls back up in to his little ball, before resting his head on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles resists the urge to card his fingers through Derek’s hair, but only barely.
“I miss them,” Derek says after a little while, so quietly that Stiles almost misses it.
“I know,” he replies, giving in to temptation and pushing his fingers through the wayward locks of Derek’s hair.
“Why did you stay? I’m such a cold person, and you’re so, so warm.” Derek mumbles, pushing his cheek further in to Stiles’ thigh.
“You know, it was once written that ‘Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad’. I don’t think you’re cold, Derek. I think you’ve been through a lot, and you’re sad, and I’d really like to change that.”
“I’m not just sad, Stiles. I’m broken.” Derek says, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.
“We’re all a little broken, Der. But that's okay. It doesn’t make me care about you any less.”
They lay in silence for a few minutes, Stiles softly carding his fingers through Derek’s hair until Derek speaks up.
“Hey, Stiles?”
“Yeah?”
“Was that Emerson?”
“Longfellow.”
“Damn.”
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Stiles eventually gets kicked out of the apartment by Laura after her shift has ended, saying that she needs some family time with her little brother which, okay, fair enough. Derek doesn’t seem very happy to see Stiles go, and holds him for a full five minutes, pouting in the doorway of the apartment until Stiles promises to come back tomorrow.
Erica seems surprised when she sees Stiles leaving the apartment, but it says a lot that she neglects to comment on the situation any more than to bid Stiles farewell on his way out of the store.
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When Stiles returns the next day, everything feels relatively normal again. He walks in to the main café and Derek is behind the counter, looking better, if not a little tired. He smiles warmly at Stiles before turning his back and starting to make Stiles’ coffee, just the way he likes it, just like normal. It feels strange, almost surreal, that Stiles is able to walk in here today and resume the same easy banter that he and Derek have always had. For all intents and purposes, the day is entirely normal (bar the extra shot of syrup in Stiles’ coffee) right up until the point the Stiles leaves.
Derek comes jogging out of the store behind Stiles, who stops on the pavement waiting for Derek to catch up. It occurs to Stiles that this is the spot where they first met.
“Hey, Stiles, um, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday. You really helped me a lot and you’re- Um, it was really- Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Derek stutters out, rubbing the back of his neck shyly and looking all together quite nervous.
Stiles takes in his disheveled expression for a moment, before saying “Always,” and kissing Derek lightly on the cheek.
Stiles watches for a moment as a blush spreads beautifully across Derek’s cheekbones to his ears, before turning on his heel and making to walk away.
“Was that a Harry Potter reference?” he hears from behind him.
“Obviously,” Stiles responds, laughing to himself as he continues to walk home.
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The days pass quickly. Stiles still goes to the store every day, even though he no longer has any work to do, and the days are still as perfect as ever. With every visit that passes, Stiles falls more in love with Derek, until it finally arrives, what he’s been waiting for. Weeks before it will hit the shelves, the first edition of Stiles’ novel arrives in the post.
Stiles’ first reaction is to sprint to the store. He rips open the door, sending the bell in to a frenzy of clanging, surely alerting anyone in the store to his presence. He bursts in to the main café to see Laura behind the counter cleaning mugs, and Derek facing him, clutching a rag between his fingers from where he’d been wiping down the tables.
“Stiles! Is everything okay?” Derek asks, the worry evident on his face, making his brow furrow.
“Yes, yeah, everything is fine! Uh, the first edition of my book arrived, and I promised I’d give it to you so, uh, I want you to look at it, but first I’ve got a few things that I really want to say to you,” Stiles pauses, taking a deep breath and trying not to panic, before looking up to meet Derek’s eyes before speaking once more.
“Before we met, I’d never read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. When you talked about how much you love it, I bought a copy from Erica, and read it so that I could talk to you about it. Neither my best friend, nor my own father are able to talk me down from a panic attack, which is something that you managed to master on the first day we met. I’ve never been able to sleep anywhere without my pillow before, until I fell asleep in your bed, with you in my arms. Um, you once told me that you’re broken, and, well, ‘It is only with true love and compassion that we can begin to mend what is broken in the world. It is these two blessed things that can begin to heal all broken hearts.’ God knows, I’m never going to stop trying.”
Stiles breaks his gaze from Derek’s now-watery eyes to turn to the first page of his book, and holds it out to Derek, who takes it from Stiles with shaking hands. Derek’s eyes skim the text quickly, before flicking up to Stiles, and then back down to the book. What happens next is a flurry of movement as the first tear rolls down Derek’s cheek, he drops the book to the ground, stepping over the discarded novel to cradle Stiles’ face between his large hands and pull him in to the best kiss of his life.
Derek’s lips are soft and warm, and better than Stiles could have ever imagined. Derek’s arms curl around his neck as his own snake around Derek’s waist, holding them together until he has to pull back for breath, but not far, still close enough to rest his forehead against Derek’s.
“God, I love you,” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ lips before capturing them again.
“OH MY GOD, DID HE JUST SAY THAT,” Laura squeals excitedly from behind the counter, “what the hell did it say?!”
“In case it wasn’t clear, the feeling is very much mutual, big guy,” Stiles speaks in to Derek’s cheek, surrounded by their own little bubble of StilesandDerek, oblivious to Laura scurrying around behind them.
Picking the book up from the floor, Laura turns to the first page and reads:
For my mom, may she rest in peace.
For my dad, for never giving up on me.
For Derek, for teaching me that it’s okay to be
a little broken, that it’s okay to be different.
Mostly, for showing me that true love
does exist outside of story books.