Chapter Text
There was a reason Stiles was in the middle of Macy’s with a pile of women’s clothing balancing precariously in his hands. If he hadn’t lost his dignity somewhere within the racks and racks of dresses and skirts and bras, he would be remembering that reason right now instead of questioning why he’d let his miserable self be dragged on this expedition.
“You don’t think this one makes me look too chesty, do you?” Lydia asked as she took a step out of the dressing room, for maybe the seventh time in the past twenty minutes he’d been standing there awkwardly. He saw the looks he was getting from the employees and the customers, and the boyfriends of the customers. It ranged from amusement, to curious glances, and lastly to sympathetic bro-nods that ensured him he was not the only one suffering through this emasculating humiliation.
“I don’t know, were you going for coconuts or melons?” Stiles struggled to see over the mountain of clothing, but the low cut of the shirt Lydia was trying on wouldn’t be missed even in the dark. A turtle could be suckling a monkey, but if Lydia was standing next to them there was no doubt all eyes would be on her, and her glorious, wonderful cleavage.
She pursed her lips, clearly not amused. “Well I definitely wasn’t hoping that my breasts looked relatable to fruit.” She replied tartly, glaring a withering look in Stiles’s general direction. When she finally looked back to examine herself in the mirror, Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and rolled his eyes.
“You should be flattered, most fruit are juicy and delicious.” He poked his head around the mass of clothing and gave her a proper once over. “Hot damn girl, you’re lookin’ fine.” The dress she was trying on was a vibrant shade of red, maybe a little too stark, but it did wonders for her already smokin’ figure. She was no pear, Stiles would be the first to commend to that. Besides, it fit her A-Type personality. “What’s the special occasion anyways? Jackson bringing you to one of his Student Mixers?”
Lydia shrugged her reply, still staring into the mirror with a twist in her lips. She didn’t look completely won over, like there was still something missing, something that would deem the dress acceptable enough to be worn in public. “Probably,” she paused, looked considering, “but that’s not what this would be for.” She went silent again for a moment, looking into the eyes of her own reflection. Stiles wasn’t sure what she saw there, but to him she looked like she was searching for something within herself. “Jackson’s going to propose.”
Stiles was waiting for the punch line. The camera crew to reveal themselves and announce he’d just been Punk’d. They’d all have a laugh about it, re-watch the part where they could visibly see Stiles’s jaw dropping open, and the sheer surprise on his face. He knew he’d look like a dork, mouth hanging wide, his eyes wearing unmasked confusion and disbelief. But the reveal never came, and Lydia stood there watching him restart his brain.
When he could finally piece a couple words together he finally squeaked out a, “Say what?”
Lydia turned to face him, scrutinizing his face and apparently not seeing anything she liked. “Jackson. Is. Going. To. Propose.” She stated, enunciating each word clearly and precisely.
Stiles remained speechless.
A dressing room attendant paused midstride, casting a nervous glance in their direction. “Is everything okay here?” Stiles didn’t hear her over the pounding of his heart, but Lydia smiled and ushered the woman away with words of assurances that there weren’t any problems.
“Stiles,” Lydia snapped her fingers, trying to break him out of his temporary shock. He shook his head, trying to fix the jumbled thoughts that didn't seem to fit together. Jackson. Lydia. Engaged. Married. Moving in together. Having little werewolf pups. Holy shit.
He dropped the clothing and thrust his fists up in the air, a triumphant whoop sounding before he scooped Lydia up and twirled her around. “Oh my god Lydia! That’s freaking awesome! That’s amazing!” He paused, put her down and rested his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes. “You want this right? He makes you happy? He’s good to you?” He asked seriously and a slow smile spread on her lips. She rested her hands on his, patting them gently.
“Of course Stiles, do you think I’d let him be anything less than good?” She gave his hands a squeeze and he let them drop away from her.
“Yeah, but he can sometimes be an asshole, y’know?” He didn’t want to be smiling so damn hard that his cheeks were hurting, but his lips had a mind of their own, and the happiness growing inside of him, warming him, was about to explode. There would be chunks of Stiles’s happiness everywhere, and that just wasn’t publically decent.
Lydia gave him a playful punch to the arm, which didn’t hurt as much as Stiles thought she might’ve wanted it to. “All guys are assholes, asshole. But I love him. I really, really do. And I want you to be happy for us. I want the whole pack to be okay with this.” She looked nervous as soon as she mentioned the pack, but Stiles just scoffed, shaking his head.
“Was I being too discreet about how absolutely thrilled I am that Jackson’s finally getting his shit together? How many years has it been now? Because it feels like ten. Ten years!” Stiles exclaimed, and over-exaggerated. It had only been five years since Lydia and Jackson started seeing each other in high school, four years since the whole werewolf thing almost tore them apart (physically and emotionally), and three years since they got back together. Been inseparable ever since. Both had been lucky enough to gain acceptance into Berkeley, Lydia building her way up to her Doctorate in Biochemistry and Jackson working on his bachelor’s degree for Business.
It was no question why either of them had gotten in, Lydia for her brilliant mind and her outstanding high school performance (even with the supernatural world of werewolves constantly causing trouble she still maintained a 4.6 GPA; the SATs must’ve been like child’s play to her) and Jackson for his never-ending, personal fountain of eternal wealth. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Jackson’s parents had something to do with his early acceptance.
But Stiles wasn’t bitter. Not at all. Because he’d gotten in to Berkeley too. At first he wasn’t sure he’d even go, not even if it was his top choice. He didn’t want to leave his dad alone, and there was also the worrisome matter of paying for tuition and residence and food. Stiles still needed to eat. And replace old, worn-out clothes. And get his hair cut, because even though he’d grown it out a bit he didn’t need to look like a mop. And then there was all the other crap like bills and expenses grown-ups had to deal with, and he was an adult now so he had all these new, overwhelming responsibilities.
But his father was there for him, like he’d always been and always would be. Stiles had even scored an academic scholarship for his humble 4.2 GPA. And his mother’s life insurance went a long way in helping him not hit panic attack mode. So he’d accepted his spot in Berkeley’s Anthropology department to learn in depth about Folklore, and he was studying his ass off; surviving on coffee and Kraft Dinner, and the occasional holiday visits back home in Beacon Hills where his father and Melissa would stuff him full of home-cooked meals until all he could do was sleep for three days and wait for the bloating to wear off.
It was working for him. Despite missing home and stressing about his future and keeping up in all his classes. He wasn’t there alone.
The three of them were in it together, though they all were housing in different residences respective of their program’s buildings. Lydia was staying in the Women in Science and Engineering’s themed housing, in the Foothill building, whereas both Jackson and Stiles had opted to reside in separate student apartments.
No matter how close the pack had gotten over the years, there was no way in hell Stiles was ever going to be Jackson’s roommate. Never. Not even if Jackson offered to pay him five billion dollars. Never ever. Nope. That was Lydia’s job now. Or at least soon.
“Okay, wait. You said he’s going to propose. He hasn’t yet? How do you know it’s gonna happen?” Stiles asked, wondering if Jackson had been an oaf and left the ring lying around where Lydia could stumble upon it. He wasn’t much for romance usually, but he was a little old-fashioned. Surprises were the best, no matter what anyone said about it, and a surprise engagement was the only way to do a proposal.
Or maybe he had just let Lydia force him into watching too many romantic comedies with her and now he’d been indoctrinated with all of these romantic, gooey ideals. Great. He didn’t need his masculinity anyways.
Fuck.
Lydia gave him her best annoyed look before crossing her arms and rolling her eyes at him. “There have been way too many signs for everything to be a coincidence.” Stiles opened his mouth to protest but she shot him a glare that snapped his jaw shut so quickly his teeth clicked together audibly. “You know what your dad always says: one’s an incident, two’s a coincidence…” Lydia held up one finger at a time.
“… Three’s a pattern, yeah, yeah. I know.” He finished for her, scratching his chin and thinking it over. “So what signs have there been? You catch him checking out rings or something? Find a receipt from Tiffany’s in his coat pocket?”
“It started about a month ago, when he asked me to book off this specific Friday from work.” She started and looked at Stiles expectantly, like he was supposed to understand or comment on that little fact. He just frowned, still a little confused, and she sighed. “Jackson asked me a month ago to book off work in advance so he can take me to dinner because, and I quote, ‘you just mean a lot to me babe, and I want to show you just how much I love you by treating you to a nice dinner.’”
“Yeah, that is weird, Jackson showing sentiment.” Stiles said, knowing he’d receive another punch for his efforts at amusing himself. “Ouch! Okay, okay. It’s a little odd that he planned that far ahead. Usually he only does that for football games and UFC matches.” She gave him a dry look, but she didn’t argue.
“He’s also been acting strange. Anxious. I called Derek and asked if his behaviours could be related to the next full moon but he assured me that this far into being a werewolf, Jackson should be completely in control of his new nature.” Lydia explained, inspecting her nails as if she were bored by the idea of lycanthropy and how it affected her boyfriend. Stiles knew better though. Knew the inner geek within her was dying to learn everything there was to know about werewolves and everything else, like her immunity and Deaton’s Shamanism.
“And you listened to him? The same guy, who at one point in time, literally had no idea what he was doing and decided to turn teenagers into werewolves?” Stiles didn’t actually blame Derek for not knowing how to handle his situation; the guy probably did the best that he could with what he had, and Stiles truly respected that. In the four years that they’d known each other, Stiles had watched Derek learn and grow, and really be there for their pack. There wasn’t a better Alpha suited for the job of handling their pack of misfits. Derek was perfect.
Lydia scoffed, arching an eyebrow at Stiles. “Oh sweetie, don’t even try to pretend you don’t have the hots for Derek. If he told you to get down on your knees you’d listen without question.” She smirked at the blush spreading throughout Stiles’s cheeks and neck.
“Okay, wow, inappropriate for Macy’s. I think grandma over there just gave you the Stink Eye.” Maybe grandma was a little bit harsh, but the woman looked like she was about to shit out a watermelon, glaring at them with disgust. Lydia giggled, an innocent look on her face.
“Anyways, there’ve been other signs too. Like on Saturday night when we were cuddling on his bed watching The Notebook, holding hands. His fingers kept playing with my ring finger, like he was fixated on it but didn’t know he was doing it. He even mentioned that he was planning on telling his parents that when he was done at Berkeley he’d be moving out of their house and hopefully closer to Emeryville.” Again she waited expectantly for Stiles to understand what exactly that all meant.
“What’s in Emeryville?” He asked, and she managed not to look at him like he was an idiot.
“The Sandia National Laboratories. The place where I’m hoping I’ll be able to put my doctorate to good use.” And, okay, that was pretty indicative of Jackson’s intentions. But it was still all very circumstantial. Stiles needed hard proof, otherwise he’d only believe it when he saw a ring on Lydia’s finger.
“Alright, I admit that it all seems suggestive, but I’m gonna need some actual, visual proof.” He said and tried to avoid the look of annoyance aimed at him.
He watched as Lydia abruptly turned and re-entered the dressing room, closing the door behind her as she went. Stiles stood there, not sure how to interpret that.
“Sir, if she’s not going to try those on I’d appreciate if you picked them up and put them back where they belong, or at least leave them with an attendant. Our customers don’t exactly shop here for clothes that have been left lying on the dirty floor.” The older, watermelon shitting woman from before grated out, wearing a look of irritation and general disgust of the world as she approached him. She wore a nametag that said Supervisor with the Macy’s logo on it that Stiles hadn’t noticed before.
Shit.
Stiles quickly apologized and crouched down to gather up the clothing he’d forgotten he’d dropped in his haste to swing Lydia around in celebration. “Maybe if you actually did your job the floor wouldn’t be so dirty and we wouldn’t have a problem now would we?” He mumbled angrily under his breath. He hadn’t meant for the lady to hear him, but by the way she sneered at him and stomped away, it was a pretty good indicator that he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d thought.
When he sorted the clothes out and stood back up there was suddenly a ring box thrust in his face. “This was in his sock drawer. Proof enough for you Stilinski?” Stiles quickly walked over to the attendant and thrust the pile of clothing into her hands. He left the girl looking confused and overwhelmed and marched back over to Lydia to snatch the box out of her hand.
Tentatively he lifted the lid and peered inside and almost gasped in utter awe of what he saw. The ring was beautiful and intricate and dazzling and fucking covered in diamonds. The band itself was white gold, and there were a few smaller diamonds leading up to the biggest one of all, outlining it. A pink diamond, cut square.
For once Stiles applauded Jackson’s eerily good taste.
“Holy shit this must’ve cost him a fortune!” Stiles would never be able to afford anything half as nice as the ring, and if he did have enough money for something like that he’d put it towards a house or something. He knew for a fact it was worth more than his jeep. But he would never put a price on his baby. She was priceless and perfect and he told himself that every time she broke down and left him stranded in the middle of nowhere. Stiles looked up from the ring to a very smug looking Lydia. “Wait, if he hasn’t proposed yet why do you have it?”
She scooped it out of his hands and began admiring it herself. “I wanted to show you.” She smiled and looked up at him, this look of complete happiness in her eyes. It made Stiles’s heart sputter, because he was so ridiculously thrilled to see her like this. She was his best friend. He loved her, though not in the same way he had before. He had come to terms with the fact that all they were ever going to be was friends, and she surprised him by letting them become so much more than that. She was like the little sister he never had, and she definitely treated him like her brother.
Somehow Stiles felt like this was the way it was always meant to be, and he was good with it. So, if Jackson was going to propose, and if Lydia really loved Jackson, then Stiles couldn’t be happier for them. And, considering since becoming a part of the pack and getting out of Beacon Hills allowed Jackson to mature a little, Stiles had actually grown to tolerate Jackson. Maybe even like him a little. But that was a secret Stiles would take to the grave and deny, deny, deny until the day he died.
Stiles reached out and grabbed Lydia’s hands in his. “You have no idea how happy I am for you.” She beamed back at him.
“Thank you.” She replied, her voice choking up a bit. She looked almost on the verge of tears, which immediately caused Stiles’s throat to clench and heart to swell with emotion. He pulled her into a tight hug and held onto her until finally she pulled away and smoothed the crinkles in the dress that the embrace had caused. “How do you feel about amaranth?” She asked and he cocked an eyebrow at the question.
“Why?” He asked, unsure if the answer was going to cause him pain. Lydia smiled, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
She patted him on the shoulder. “My maid of honour has to look good in the wedding colours I choose for him, right?” She smirked, and before he could even process that she turned on her heel and walked back into the dressing room. “I better start trying on some more of these dresses before they kick us out.” She called over her shoulder.
A slow smile spread over Stiles’s lips.
Lydia wanted him to be her maid of honour, by her side when she took her vows. “As long as I don’t have to wear a dress. That’s where I draw the line.” He shot back once he finally managed to stop smiling so hard and gained access to his mouth again.
She opened the door, already in another dress. “I don’t know Stiles, I think Derek wouldn’t mind seeing a little leg action from you.” She winked at him and positioned herself in front of the mirror. Stiles laughed out loud at that, picturing himself in a dress and Derek looking like he’d just been traumatized for life.
“Hey, who said anything about leg action? I am a modest, model of purity. The only dress I’ll ever wear will be no shorter than my ankles, thank you very much.” She rolled her eyes at him and then smoothed out the crinkles in her dress. This one was a lot more elegant than the last; a deep navy blue in colour and instead of strapless like the last one she tried on, it draped over one shoulder.
When she looked at herself in the mirror she brightened. Stiles saw the caution in her eyes melt away, and before she said it he already knew. This was the dress she was going to get proposed to in.
Stiles hoped the actual wedding dress shopping would be as easy as this. Although, to say that this shopping excursion had been easy, well, Stiles was certain he’d lost his mind right around the time Lydia had tried on dress number fifteen. They’d been shopping for a few hours now, trying on dress after dress. He was pretty amazed she’d kept the reason from him for so long, especially considering how exciting the news was. She probably enjoyed knowing something no one else knew.
“This is the one.” She smiled, biting her lower lip. Stiles could see the happiness radiating off of her, and he was being affected by it. He smiled broadly. “Now all we have to do is find the perfect pair of heels.” She stated and marched back into the dressing room so she could get redressed and purchase the dress. Stiles sighed inwardly and the smile instantly fell from his face. He pulled out his phone, ignored the text message alerts, and looked at the time. It was almost four o’clock, and they’d gotten to the shopping outlet at noon.
He still had to study for his Finals and pack his bags for the long trip back to Beacon Hills.
“I have to be home by at least nine Lydia.” Stiles reminded her, though a part of his sternness dissolved when it went up against Lydia’s withering glare as she exited the change room. “I’m serious! I have Finals to cram for!” Stiles had confidence in his ability to pass the test, especially if he remembered to take his Adderall beforehand. On top of that, his last Final was in a few days, and then he was free, and it was in his Arctic Folklore and Mythology in Nordic Land course. He’d called up Deaton to help him out with his term paper, putting in some extra info about the differences between the presence of Shamanism in the Sami culture versus the Greenlanders. It was really interesting stuff, at least to Stiles. He absorbed everything like a sponge, eager to learn more.
So really the test was going to be a walk in the park, but it never hurt to be entirely sure that you’re prepared for anything.
“Whatever, the stores close then anyways.” She walked passed him and went directly to the check-out lineup, which was completely empty. Thank all the gods for small mercies. “You’re not actually stressing about your Final, are you?” She asked as she put the dress on the counter and smiled at the cashier. The young woman smiled back, though she eyed the two of them wearily.
“Well, yeah. This is sort of important stuff, Lydia. Grades and all that jazz.” Lydia just rolled her eyes at him.
“You’re smart, I have faith in your ability to keep up in your courses. You have to, at least long enough to stick around with me here for a couple more years so we can both finish our Masters.” She said, like he had no choice in the matter. Which he really, really didn’t.
“The total’s gonna be two hundred and ninety five dollars. Will that be cash, debit, or credit?” The cashier prompted and Lydia reached into her purse.
“Debit.” She pulled out her wallet and swiped her card, going through the whole boring process of waiting for the machine to validate her payment. When they were done and the cashier had wished them a good day, they exited the Macy’s and headed for Stiles’s jeep. “Let’s start with Nine West, we passed an outlet just up the road on Marina Boulevard.” She pointed in a vague direction, though Stiles recognized it was back the way that they’d driven, closer to the University. They’d find their way back, slowly but surely. “Have you heard from Derek lately?” She asked as she hopped into the passenger side seat.
That reminded Stiles of the texted messages on his phone. He did his seat belt up and pulled out his phone to see that there were a total of three messages waiting for him. One was from Scott, a celebratory text letting him know that he was done with all of his course Finals and would be in Beacon Hills within the next hour. The second one was from his dad, wishing him luck on his last Final and letting him know that Melissa and him were looking forward to having their boys home for the holidays.
The last text was from Derek, which actually wasn’t unusual. He liked to check in every now and then; it was all apart of his new and improved approach to Alpha-ing.
Derek:
Are you finished packing yet?
Since the pack had worked out its shit and was now an actual pack, Derek had turned out to be not so bad of a guy. Stiles understood Derek a lot more, trusted him as the Alpha. They’d been through a lot of life threatening situations, and even though Stiles never thought it was possible, they’d actually become friends. Everyone in the pack was on good terms with each other, even including Allison and Derek.
He killed her mother, she shot him a bunch of times with her arrows, and then they talked it out in private and came out respecting each other. It brought a new sense of peace to the pack, considering Scott loved Allison and up until that point was divided between his pack and his heart. Everything just sort of fell together after that, like some sort of balance was given.
The pack wasn’t just like a family to them, it was a family. They stuck together through everything. They graduated high school, applied to colleges, got accepted (or in some not so great instances, rejected) from colleges, and now they were all off on their own. They were all in their second year of college and university, and they’d come up with a system that worked and kept them all connected even if they weren’t living in the same area code as each other.
Texting and Skype did wonders; especially group chat. The best was coming home to Beacon Hills though. Even though Stiles wished they could stay together - go to the same school, get jobs in the same town - he also knew that they all deserved to follow their hearts and dreams. Lydia was brilliant, she deserved to get into the Sandia Laboratories and grace the world with her genius. The pack wouldn't hold her back from it; they'd encourage it.
Stiles:
Not yet. Out shopping with Lyds.
Stiles replied to Derek before realizing Lydia was watching him. “What’s up?” He asked and slipped the phone back in his pocket. It was in vain though, because just as he did it began vibrating to signal another incoming text.
“You didn’t answer my question.” She replied impatiently. Stiles raised an eyebrow, confused by her touchiness on the subject of Derek. He looked down at his screen to see Derek had already replied. Dude must’ve been watching his phone or something.
“Oh, uh,” Stiles trailed off but started reading the text message instead.
Derek:
Cute. Does she know that money runs out when you’re spending it all the time?
Stiles smirked, typing out a response already.
Stiles:
How would you know? Mr. Camaro.
“Yeah, we’re texting right now. What’s up?” Stiles asked, finally focusing his attention on the very impatient, arm-crossed Lydia.
“Oh nothing, just wondering if you knew about his latest romantic exploits. Or, failed exploits actually.” She grimaced, leaning her hand against her forehead. Stiles frowned.
“What? He already broke up with that Lana chick?” Stiles hadn’t even gotten a chance to meet her. According to Allison she was a pretty decent girl, and quite snarky too, but a little bit on the air-headed side. Which was okay. But he’d teased Derek a lot about it, just to get under the other man’s skin.
Lydia let out a scoff, “Yeah, about a week ago. She didn’t know the difference between writing ‘your’ and ‘you’re’, and apparently Derek just snapped.” Stiles laughed out loud at that; he never knew Derek was a secret grammar Nazi. Lydia was laughing too, and maybe they should’ve felt a little bad, knowing how temperamental Derek was and how his anger was probably one of the scariest forces Stiles had ever seen, but it was also sort of hilarious.
“Oh man, that’s brutal!” Stiles chuckled, starting his jeep. Lydia giggled for a bit longer, nodding enthusiastically.
“I know, I bet she probably said libary instead of library.” Stiles let out another chuckle and Lydia smiled.
When he caught his breath he just shook his head. “Holy shit man, we’re such snobs.” He pulled out of the parking space and headed towards the exit. She made no objection, because she knew how tight-knit their group was now. Any new people were harshly judged and discriminated against, but not because they thought they were better than everyone else. It wasn’t like being in a high school clique, or anything as remotely immature as that.
It was just that they didn’t trust outsiders easily. They’d spent years together, standing beside each other during all the shitty times. And they didn’t want to watch their pack mates get hurt in any way, including in matters of the heart. Especially for Derek. When he opened up about what Kate had done to his family, Stiles had seen red. Kate was just lucky she was already dead; otherwise she would’ve had a much slower death than the one Peter had delivered to her.
Stiles’s hands tightened on the wheel. Even thinking about her sent an unwelcome shiver of anger through his spine. He shook his head, regained control over his thoughts, and focused on the road until they hit the outlet and Lydia dragged him inside. If the dress shopping was any indication of how this was going to turn out, Stiles was almost positive they probably weren’t going to get out of there until well past dinner time. Which meant the small hunger that was already beginning to growl in the pit of Stiles’s stomach would be allowed to grow until the pain drove Stiles to shift into really-hungry-aggravated-and-not-fucking-happy Stiles.
And no one wanted that.
When Lydia found the first pair she adored and tried them on, Stiles pulled out his phone to see Derek had replied again.
Derek:
I have a job and I don’t have to pay student fees.
Stiles:
Right, you just spend all your money on gym memberships and wife beaters to show off all your angst and muscle.
Derek:
You’re hilarious Stiles.
Stiles:
Your sarcasm hurts me.
Stiles smirked and quickly sent another text.
Stiles:
I mean **you’re.
Stiles:
Ur gf wuz so smart
Derek:
I swear to god Stiles.
Stiles:
Wut do u sware 2 god 4 Derek?
Derek:
I’m never telling Allison anything ever again.
Stiles:
im sure shed be <3 broken
Derek:
I’m going to break you in a second.
Stiles:
What, with your teeth? Heard that threat before. I’m over it.
“What do you think about these ones?” Lydia asked, and Stiles looked up from his phone. He spared a glance down to her feet and shrugged.
“They’re nice.” He smiled hopefully, like that’s all it would take to get her to make her decision. Her lips were twisted in a frown though.
“Nice isn’t good.” She stood up and gave them a walk before sitting down and taking them off. “I don’t like them. What else is there?” She asked the attendant that had appeared while Stiles had been texting Derek. His mind began to wander while Lydia scoured through the women’s selection of high heels.
At the end of it all she finally decided on a black strappy pair that, according to Lydia, went really well with her dress. As much as Stiles loved dresses and shoes (that was sarcasm) they spent almost two hours in Nine West. Stiles was ready to go home and eat. The thrilling news of Lydia’s soon-to-be engagement was only exciting enough to keep Stiles happy for an hour. And then the hunger hit. And then Stiles was slowly devolving into a Neanderthal, barely shrugging and grunting when Lydia asked for his opinion.
She gave him an unsympathetic look and continued on her merry quest, but Stiles noticed she spent a little less time contemplating the shoes before making her final decisions.
When they were back on the road, headed towards the nearest fast food joint they could find, Stiles felt better. They hit a drive through and Stiles stuffed his face with burger and bacon and cheese and it was so good Stiles maybe made some questionable noises but Lydia didn’t comment. She just raised an eyebrow and went back to playing on her phone and singing to the blasting Adele that Stiles had let her crank up, even though he wasn’t sure if his baby’s speakers could handle it.
They were driving along, Stiles finally in a peaceful, post-food frenzy haze, when he saw the sign.
“Wait a second, this is Emeryville?” He asked, looking around them. That couldn’t be right. He leaned over and turned down the music.
“And?” Lydia said, keeping her eyes on her phone. Her voice was a little tight.
“This’s almost two and a half hours away from Beacon Hills, Lydia.” Emeryville was apparently only ten minutes away from Berkeley. But Berkeley wasn’t exactly walking distance from Beacon Hills. How hadn’t he put two and two together before?
She sighed. “Yes. And your point has yet to be made.” Stiles was certain she knew exactly what he was trying to get at. She was stubborn though, so he was going to just come right out and say it.
“That’s two hours away from the pack. Two hours away from me.” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “How am I going to show up at your house at three in the morning to vent about all of my frustrations and tell you all about the last dude who just dumped me?” It had become a habit for them really, to text or call each other at all hours of the night crying or venting, or both. On more than one occasion The Notebook was rented and Reese’s Pieces ice cream was bought, and Stiles had driven over to Lydia’s res so they could indulge themselves, making it so Stiles could feel better about his latest break up.
They’d gotten so close that he had opened up to her about practically everything, including his mom. And that was a big deal. It was an even bigger deal when she told him it wasn’t his fault. That there was nothing he could’ve done to save her. And that it was okay. Because if his mother were still alive she’d be so proud of him, and Lydia would’ve loved to meet the woman who named her son Genim, and was a part of why that little boy had grown up to be the best person Lydia had ever come to know and love.
Lydia was always there for him when he needed her, but how could she still be with two hundred and eight kilometers separating them?
“It won’t be forever Stiles. Besides, you’ll be with the pack by then, you won’t miss me.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, but wouldn’t meet Stiles’s gaze.
“Are you kidding me? Of course I’ll miss you! You’re the only one who tolerates me going off on tangents and having arguments with myself!” That wasn’t strictly true, but she was the only one that could handle the random information that Stiles burst with when he got to be too hyper or forgot to take his Adderall. The only other one was Derek, but Stiles was fairly certain it was only because Derek tuned Stiles out when that happened.
Lydia scoffed in irritation. “Stop being such a child Stiles.” He wasn’t exactly pouting but-… okay, fine. He was totally pouting. Lower lip stuck out and everything.
“I’m not! Everyone will miss you, and Jackson!” Stiles said, though he threw in Jackson as an afterthought. The truth was, he would miss Jackson, but he’d miss Lydia even more.
“Can we please just focus on getting through this week and making it to Friday?” She asked, slipping on her sunglasses and resting her hand on her forehead, which was her signal that she would ignore anything more Stiles tried to say on the subject. Since Stiles wasn’t in the mood to argue with her he decided he’d remain silent until she was ready to talk. Which meant that the rest of the drive home was spent listening to the radio.
When Stiles pulled up to drop her off at her residence she grabbed her bags before pausing and turning to give him an apologetic look. “Thanks for today Stiles. I promise we’ll talk more when things are a little clearer.” She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before jumping out of the jeep. “Text me tomorrow!” She called over her shoulder and Stiles watched her walk away, her head held high.
He got back to his apartment in record time and immediately turned his focus on his studies. He was halfway done going through his second unit’s material when Skype alerted him to an incoming call.
He hit the answer button without even looking to see who it was. He kept his eyes trained on his notes and waited for whoever it was to say hello.
“Stiles, why do you always have something in your mouth?” At the sound of Derek’s voice Stiles almost choked on the lid of his highlighter that had somehow found its way in between Stiles’s lips. “Please don’t kill yourself choking on it, that’d be hard to explain to your father. Though, I’m sure he wouldn’t be surprised.” Stiles blushed.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, spitting the lid out on his bed, “Death by highlighter lid. I’d get my very own episode on 1,000 Ways to Die.” He looked up at the screen to see Derek was sitting at his desk back home. Literally Stiles’s desk in his father’s house. What the hell? “What on Earth are you doing in my old bedroom?” Derek looked around for a minute, a slow smirk spreading across his lips.
He reached for something off screen and Stiles’s heart fluctuated in his chest. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a big collection of dolls before.” He presented to Stiles the little Yoda Stiles kept on his desk back home. And there was more where that came from, hidden away in Stiles’s closet. And apparently Derek had seen those too.
What the fuck had Derek been doing in Stiles’s closet?
“They’re action figures Derek. Gonna be worth a fortune one day.” The others were packed away in their original boxes, mint condition. Their worth went up every day they stayed that way. “You didn’t answer my question! Why are you in my bedroom?”
Derek set the Yoda down and leaned back into Stiles’s office chair, which Stiles suddenly missed because the desk chair he had here was wooden and hard and all he could afford on a student’s budget. “Your dad and Melissa invited me over for dinner. Scott and Allison are here too.” Then Derek leaned in closer, resting his arms on the desk. “Scott wanted to take a nap in here with Allison. So it was either them or me occupying the room. I think you owe me.” Derek raised a heavy eyebrow at Stiles as Stiles buried his face into his bed and groaned.
“No. No way. Scott wouldn’t have had sex in my bed. No matter how horny he was. It’s the bro code. He would not betray me like that.” Derek laughed at that and Stiles wanted to throw his pillow at him. Unfortunately Derek was still two hours away and safe behind the computer screen.
“I don’t know, he kept complaining about how long the drive back was, and how much he missed Allison. Things could’ve gotten messy.” Derek was grinning at Stiles’s horror.
“He has his own bedroom now, doesn’t he?” Stiles cried, pleading for it to be true. He didn’t need Scott shacking up in his childhood bedroom just because the dude slept in it when he sometimes went home to visit their parents. Stiles cringed at the thought of Scott taking advantage of his bed all those times before when he went home…
Ugh.
Derek rubbed his thumb against his lower lip. “The mattress for his bed hasn’t been delivered yet.” He was clearly enjoying seeing Stiles in pain.
Stiles groaned again. “He’s not bunking with me when I come back. He gets the couch. The dude kicks in his sleep!” He was pretty sure he still had the bruise to prove it. Derek’s eyebrow rose again.
“I’ve heard Allison say that. But it’s no worse than what Scott told me you do.” Derek paused, letting that sink in. Slowly Stiles’s brain processed, and his mouth fell open. Oh shit. There was probably a lot of stuff Stiles did in his sleep. Drool, pass gas, flail, walk, and he knew for a fact that he was a talker, spilling his guts about all his subconscious fears, secrets, desires, etc… “Apparently you sprawl.”
Stiles let out a held breath of air. “Oh. That.” Stiles frowned. He knew he was sort of a sprawler, but it wasn’t so bad. He never really shared his bed with anyone anymore, so it didn’t really matter. “How is that even remotely close to being worse than kicking people in your sleep?” Derek snorted and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know Stiles, that paired with the fact that you don’t even shut up when you’re sleeping makes you a pretty obnoxious sleeper.” Derek answered and Stiles took offence to that. Because rude.
He pushed his study notes away from him and repositioned is lap top so Derek could see the look of annoyance on his face better.
“I bet you’re a cuddler.” Stiles blurted out without really thinking it through. Instantly Derek frowned and crossed his arms over his rock hard chest of muscly goodness. Stiles forced himself to look back up at the sour face. Derek was glaring holes into Stiles. If the cam quality wasn’t so pixelated, he would’ve sworn there was a blush creeping up Derek’s neck. “Oh my god, I’m right. I’m so right! You’re a snuggler! That’s adorable!” Stiles couldn’t contain the evil cackles that burst out of him.
Derek flipped him off and looked about ready to jump through the screen and strangle him. “Shut the hell up, idiot.” Derek growled, but Stiles couldn’t control himself, or the copious amount of laughter seizing him. It was an entire minute later before Stiles finally stopped laughing, and wiped the single tear from his eye. He’d been laughing so hard that his stomach and cheeks hurt. “Are you done?” Derek asked, not looking amused at all.
It was just too cute though. The big bad Alpha being a cuddler. It was like trying to picture Stiles being co-ordinated. Just seemed wrong. “For now. Just wait ‘til I tell Lydia!” Stiles pulled out his phone, already sending her a text. He heard Derek growl, probably making Alpha eyes at him, but he didn’t care. The text was sent and received and shortly replied to. “She agreed with me. It’s adorable.”
Stiles smiled deviously and felt his phone go off again. He looked down and read another text.
Lydia:
Wait, if he’s a cuddler and you sprawl, how’s that going to work?
Stiles frowned. “What time are you going to be here on Saturday?” Derek asked, sounding very much done with being teased about his sleeping habits.
Stiles:
What do you mean? How’s what going to work?
“Uhh,” Stiles paused, trying to type out the text and answer Derek at the same time but failing miserably. After he hit the send button he looked back up at Derek. “Time. Right. Probably around threeish. We’re planning on leaving at noon. Why?” He’d already told his dad when to expect him.
Derek shrugged, which was not a helpful answer. “Your dad was wondering.” He got quieter, fidgeting a little with his fingers. Stiles frowned but didn’t say anything. “Well I better get going.” Derek said after the silence got too uncomfortable for him. Stiles’s phone went off at the same time, but it could wait.
“Yeah, me too. Still have a lot of shit to go over for my Final.” Stiles nodded, reaching for his notes.
Derek looked like he wanted to say more, but instead just pursed his lips and nodded back.
“Cool. Good luck on that, by the way.” Derek said, attempting to smile. Stiles grinned.
“Thanks dude, it’s on Thursday. Still have a few days between now and then, so.” Stiles rubbed at his forehead, unsure about what to say next. He didn’t want to say goodbye quite yet; procrastinating was very much a good thing when Derek was involved.
Derek was biting at his lower lip, staring at Stiles like he expected something to happen. When the silence stretched out Stiles was fairly certain he was going to explode. Weren’t they supposed to be saying their goodbyes now?
“Derek?” Stiles asked, worried he said something wrong. But he hadn’t said anything at all. So what the hell?
“Shh.” Derek hushed him, still staring intently at his own computer screen. Stiles tilted his head, trying to listen for anything that would alarm Derek. “Do you hear that?” Derek asked, and Stiles strained to hear anything. But it was just silence.
“No, what is it?” He asked. Derek looked directly into the camera, so it looked as if he was looking directly at Stiles.
“It’s the longest silence you’ve ever gone without exploding into noise.” Derek smirked, pleased with himself. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Would you prefer I sulk in silence and brood and angst? Maybe I’ll dye my hair black and live in a basement somewhere. Contemplate life until I’m driven into madness.” He pouted, picking up his highlighter again, just about ready to ignore Derek.
Derek let out a bark of a laugh. “That’d be the day.” His lips tilted into a half smile, taunting Stiles.
Stiles sighed and threw his face down into the bed. “I was describing you, you asshole.” He heard Derek scoff and had to look back up.
“Excuse you. My hair is naturally black.” He looked dead serious. A second later they both broke out into a fit of laughs. When it died down Stiles sat there smiling like a complete idiot until Derek cleared his throat. “Okay, well, good luck studying. I’ll let your dad and Melissa know that you say hi. And I’ll tell Scott you’re more than happy to let him and Allison go all night long in your bed.” Derek grinned slyly.
Stiles dead panned. “You wouldn’t dare.” But Derek just kept smiling. “Derek! I swear-,” Stiles wasn’t messing around. He would kill Derek, and Scott. Not Allison though. She was a way better bro than Scott had turned out to be. Stiles spent most of his time with Lydia and her when they were visiting home. She was also a lot better at Call of Duty than Scott; the two of them dominated team matches.
“Think of this as payback for earlier.” Derek retorted, growing a bit more growly. The tone seemed to hit a nerve for Stiles; a jolt of arousal shooting straight down through his body. Stiles had to squirm a bit to relieve the pressure that was building in his pajama bottoms.
“Uhh…” He started, but his voice broke and he had to clear his throat. “Earlier? What’d I do earlier?” He tried to redirect the blood flow to his brain, but only managed it in time to remember what Derek was referring to.
“It’s cute how you think you can play dumb.” Derek had an eyebrow raised again and Stiles had to look away. He looked over at his bookcase, started reading off the titles in his head. “Lana and I had a lot of differences, okay? And it just got to a point where I couldn’t take it anymore.” He tried to explain but Stiles was only half listening.
“Take what anymore?” Stiles asked, genuinely curious. “From what I heard she doted on you!” She never left Derek’s side, probably drove him absolutely insane.
“The constant chattering about all that stupid shit. I don’t care about who the latest Bachelorette is, I don’t care how much money Kim Kardashian spent on her fucking wedding, and I really don’t give two shits about what new song Britney Spears just came out with! Fuck! When have I ever expressed an interest in that sort of crap?” Derek’s rant sort of had Stiles a little stunned.
“Uhh… Never?” Stiles replied, unsure if whether or not Derek was even looking for an answer.
“Exactly!” Derek shouted, thrusting his hand out towards the screen. “Not once! And she never asked! Just kept going on and on about all of it. It was so… mundane.” Derek paused, looking thoughtful and morose. “I guess she was just too human, y’know?” Derek asked, fixing his gaze on Stiles.
Whatever hardness had developed in Stiles’s pants instantly disappeared at that. “Yeah. I totally get it.” He murmured, looking down at his keyboard. Stiles didn’t get it, actually. What was so bad about being human? Just because he didn’t have fast reflexes and super strength, it didn’t mean that he was boring. Or mundane. Or anything less than Derek or Scott or any of the werewolves.
Derek didn’t seem to notice Stiles slowly retreating into himself, but he didn’t have a chance to examine the other boy too closely before someone new entered the conversation. “Stiles, bro!”
Andrew, one of Stiles’s roommates - the one who was incapable of knocking - barged into his bedroom. “The guys and I are heading down to the Burn’s if you wanna join?” He asked before he even looked over to see the mess of papers lying in front of Stiles on his bed. “Oh shit, you still have a Final left? That blows dude!” He invited himself in and plopped himself down on the end of the bed.
“Yeah, just one this Thursday.” Stiles said, looking down at his notes and reading a sentence or two before looking back up and almost jumping out of his skin. Andrew’s face was right beside his, leaning over his shoulder to look closer at Stiles’s laptop screen.
Derek didn’t look exceptionally thrilled at being interrupted. “Andrew.” Derek ground out, glaring at the screen. The two had met over Skype chat before, much in the same intruding way. Andrew just nodded back before looking over at Stiles, his face barely enough space away to allow Stiles to breathe. From the stench of Andrew’s breath it was clear he’d already had a few beers.
“So you coming bro?” Andrew asked again, leaning in even closer. Stiles had to move away before Andrew planted a kiss on his cheek.
“No thanks man, kinda busy.” Stiles motioned to the laptop and Andrew scoffed.
“The bearded dude can wait. Come have a drink with me!” Andrew bellowed, tugging at Stiles’s arm. If looks could kill Andrew would’ve been mutilated. Stiles had noticed Derek got perturbed when anyone in the pack was being touched by someone outside of the pack, so he wouldn’t mistake the need to protect for an expression of jealousy.
“He said no.” Derek growled, and the look in his eyes was threateningly close to crossing over into glowy Alpha territory, which was so not good. They could dismiss it as lighting, or Andrew being drunk, but Stiles didn’t want to have to lie out of his ass tonight.
“Don’t worry about me dude, you guys go have fun.” Stiles tried to usher Andrew out of the room, but the guy was in a glaring contest with the Alpha. If that didn’t sign your own death warrant, Stiles didn’t know what more it would take to. “I bet Jason’ll be there!” Stiles tried, and that was enough to break Andrew away from Derek.
“Do y’think?” Andrew asked hopefully, looking up at Stiles like he’d just told him he could poop out rainbows. Jason was the super-hot guy next door. Literally next door. He lived in the apartment just down the hallway with a few other less noteworthy Berkeley students. Stiles and Andrew were the only ones in their apartment that noticed him - considering their other roommates; Ben had a fiancé, and Nathan was a total player… of girls-only. Stiles was a little more liberal, something he didn’t figure out until his last year of high school when he realized he was literally surrounded by all these attractive people – both male and female, and human and werewolf – so he had to accept that he was open to playing both fields.
At first the idea of coming out had been hard, but when he got it over and done with, he felt extremely relieved. And still loved. His father had been such a sap about it; telling Stiles that he loved his son no matter what, because they’d already gone through the, hey dad, my best friend is a werewolf and I run around fighting supernatural creatures that we thought only existed in fairy tales, and there wasn’t much more than that, that could faze the sheriff.
“Oh yeah! I’m sure of it! And if he isn’t, well, there’s no shame in bringing home a guy that looks like him, right?” Stiles asked, jumping off his bed and literally escorting Andrew out of his room, because he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get the guy out any other possible way.
“Yeah!” Andrew hollered, bumping his fist against Stiles's before leaving down the hallway to rejoin the guys, whoever they were. Ben didn’t go out drinking much, and Nathan still had a couple Finals to deal with. So Stiles didn’t want to know.
When he jumped back onto his bed and started rearranging his notes, it took him a good full minute to remember he was still on Skype with Derek. “Oh! Shit! Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.” Stiles said once he realized Derek was watching him with amusement. Derek licked his lips, and Stiles’s eyes followed the movement. Without his brain's permission.
“I should really get going now anyways.” Derek said, and did some typing before looking back up to Stiles. “Get some studying done, ace the Final, pack, and I’ll see you Saturday.” He ended the call before Stiles could even reply.
Stiles let out a sigh and rolled over onto his back so he could stare up at the ceiling. Somewhere in his brain it registered that he still had an unread text waiting for him and he scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket.
Lydia:
Sleeping together would be a little difficult then, wouldn’t it? He’d want to cling; you’d want to spread out all over the bed. And him. You should try it sometime, let me know how it goes.
Stiles basically choked on his own saliva, and he made a strangled noise, because nope.
Stiles:
Yeah, it’d be like sleeping with a bear. Actually, a werewolf. I’d end up losing a few limbs.
He sent the message and tried to focus on his notes. It was impossible. The moment his phone vibrated he pounced for it.
Lydia:
Interesting. I could see Derek being rough with you, but not that rough. Not unless you liked it.
Stiles made another strangled noise and began frantically typing.
Stiles:
OMG. Can you not? You know that’s not what I meant!
He threw the phone away from himself, watching as it landed further up on the bed. He didn’t need Lydia teasing him about Derek. Not that it was a new thing, but it was a hopeless thing. Derek was just… well, he was a lot of things. And it drove Stiles mental sometimes. It was impossible to keep himself from staring too long, or saying too much, which he always did anyways.
His phone’s screen lit up and he contemplated throwing it out a window. But his resolve crumbled in about two seconds and he was lunging across the bed.
Lydia:
You’re so cute Stiles. So innocent.
Stiles was not innocent. He was so far from innocent that Lydia had no right.
Stiles:
Bite me.
Stiles wished he could come up with a better come back than bite me, but it was starting to get late and he was pretty sure all of this studying was doing the opposite of what it was supposed to be doing, because his brain felt like mush. He doubted any studying he did would have any effect on what he would be able to retain until he took the Final.
Lydia:
No, sorry. That’s Derek’s job. He is the Alpha, after all ;)
And that was it. Stiles didn’t have the patience anymore.
Stiles:
I’m going to bed.
He gathered up all of his notes and books and put them on his desk before crawling under the covers and turning his bedside lamp off. When his phone lit up he checked it quickly, hoping she was letting it drop.
Lydia:
You’re no fun.
He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes.
Stiles:
Goodnight Lydia.
He rolled over onto his side, punching the pillow a couple times until it was an acceptable amount of comfortable.
Lydia:
Goodnight Stiles.
He plugged the phone into charge and closed his eyes, slowly drifting in and out of consciousness until his imagination and thoughts slipped away, replaced by dreams and images of things he wouldn’t recall in the morning.