Work Text:
“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed out, reaching a hand out blindly to grasp at Scott’s arm. He almost knocked over their drinks before he made it, Scott’s indignant squawk drowned out by his own miserable groan. “That’s Lydia Martin.”
And it was. He and Scott were on a bro-date at one of the quieter diners in Beacon Hills, finding some escape from school and from all of the homework that awaited them when they returned home. Except Stiles couldn’t even tell you what they had been talking about before the Queen of Beacon Hills walked in -- with the Jockhead of Beacon High stuck to her arm. Jackson. Even in his mind, the name was spoken with contempt. The boy had a permanent sneer on, glancing around the diner as if he’d rather eat food out of a trash can.
“Stiles,” Scott sighed, which failed to draw him away from his staring. “Dude, you’ve got to let this go.”
Stiles grunted distractedly and took his hand back.
“Not my arm,” Scott huffed. “Lydia. I know you like her, hell, everyone knows you like her, but you need to move on.”
“There’s no need for that, buddy.” Stiles finally turned to look at his friend, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “I have a plan.” Scott looked unimpressed.
“Really? And what would that be?”
“To woo her.”
“And how long will that take?”
“All good things come to those who wait, my friend.”
“Except I’ve been hearing that for eight years now.” With a sigh, Scott leaned forward, fixing Stiles with a look over their half-finished burgers. “You’re like my brother, Stiles. I get that you like her, I get it, but it’s not healthy to pine after the same person your whole life while never doing anything about it.”
“I said I’ve got a plan!”
“All I’ve heard is talk.”
“Okay then,” Stiles snapped, glaring at his childhood friend. “I’ll go do something about it now, then.”
“No you won’t,” Scott sighed, his eyes shifting over to where Lydia and Jackson had taken a seat. “Because her boyfriend is with her.”
“You think I’m scared of Jackson?”
“Terrified,” Scott deadpanned. Stiles’ chair scraped across the ground as he stood up, fists clenching in determination. Scott looked vaguely alarmed, but also disbelieving.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Bro, you’ve gotta be-”
Stiles didn’t stick around to hear what he had to be, because he had a point to make. And that point was that Scott’s own seemingly valid point was total bullshit. He was going to do it, like he’d always intended to. He was going to march right up to Lydia, ignore her douchenozzle of a boyfriend, and sweep her off her feet. He knew he was worth a thousand of those jocks. Surely, Lydia was smart enough to realize this.
He kept his eyes trained on the booth they were seated at, his eyes fixed on Lydia’s beautiful profile as she took a sip of her water, her skin color beautiful even under the horrible lighting of the diner. She was just setting the glass back down and he was maybe two booths away when Stiles’ typical luck kicked in. A server rounded a blind corner, tray held over her shoulder and packed high with dishes. Stiles imagined every single one of those plates clattering to the ground when they collided, which would happen, considering she could totally not see him, and then everyone would turn to stare and Jackson would sneer at him and Lydia would--
Placing a hand on the booth nearest to him for leverage, he all but threw himself to the other end of the isle, somehow managing to duck under the tray and avoid both of the server’s feet on the way. He spun around to make sure the girl didn’t have a delayed reaction of tripping and dropping everything, but his ankle twisted in a bad way and he lost his footing with a squeak. Farewell, dignity.
A hand darted out to clasp itself around Stiles’ forearm, another slinging around his shoulder, halting his descent to the ground and gently pulling him back to his feet. Stiles blinked at his savior, who blinked back. Pronounced cheekbones, dark scruff, hazel eyes -- holy crap, eyes. Stiles gulped, and hoped it wasn’t as loud as it felt in his throat.
“Nice dodge,” the man said, his voice somehow higher than Stiles had expected considering how the dude was built. Stiles glanced down at the arm that was still gripping his. His forearm muscles were ridiculous, and they weren’t even hauling his skinny ass up anymore.
“Uh,” he said, remembering how to get his voice to work. “Nice catch?”
The guy laughed at that, face splitting with a grin that almost changed him completely. He could have almost looked scary before, with the angled face and the beard and the muscles that were only accentuated by his skin-tight henley. Now though, faced with a friendly laugh and a set of adorable bunny teeth, Stiles found his gut clenching. The skin where the man was still holding him felt electrified. His breath fluttered.
“My name is Stiles,” he blurted out. “I mean, my actual name isn’t Stiles, but no one can pronounce that anyway and even my dad hasn’t bothered in years, so my name is Stiles. Uh.”
“Derek,” the man said. His eyebrows had climbed up a bit during his rant, but he was still smiling. “You looked like you were in a hurry, before?”
“Before?” Stiles glanced over his shoulder at Lydia’s table. She was still there, of course, as was her douchecanoe of a boyfriend. She was still beautiful, her skin still glowing, her hair still perfect...but his desire to march over to her was no longer a pressing need. He returned his gaze to his swooping knight, to Derek, and noticed just how cute his ears were. “Yeah, that wasn’t important. What are you doing right now?”
Derek’s eyebrows, which had relaxed, shot right back up. He glanced over at the table he had apparently been sitting at before Stiles almost collided with a distracted girl carrying a trayful of hot plates. There was a signed receipt on the table and nobody else waiting.
“Ah. So, you were leaving?”
“Yes,” Derek said, a corner of his lips twitching as if he was resisting the urge to smirk. And yet Stiles didn’t feel mocked as much as he felt...admired, maybe. Though most of him believed that to be wishful thinking, he scrounged up his courage, licked his lips. Derek’s eyes darted down, tracking the movement.
“Any plans after this?”
“I didn’t have any.”
“Would you like to?”
“What did you have in mind?” Derek asked. Something about his smile was guarded, but Stiles didn’t let it slow him down.
“Well, we’ve both obviously already eaten, but there’s a movie theater two blocks away from here. There’s that new action movie out that looks kind of cool. Do you watch movies?”
“On occasion,” Derek said, but it didn’t sound like a rejection. Both of them were smiling like idiots now, standing and staring at each other in the middle of a diner like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
“Uh, excuse me,” a voice piped up and they stepped out of the way so another server could walk by. The distraction, far from snapping Stiles back to a reality where he had a snowball’s chance in hell of landing a hottie like this one, just spurred him into action. He started for the exit, gesturing for Derek to follow him.
“Did you drive? I’d say we could take my car, but I’m gonna have to leave it behind or my bro will be stranded.”
“It’s okay,” Derek said, his smirk turning predatory. “I’ll drive.” Stiles was so distracted staring at him that he almost walked into a table, but Derek just threw an arm out and redirected him.
When they reached his table, they found Scott staring at them with puppy-widened eyes and mouth slightly open. Stiles chucked his keys at the table and nearly hit Scott in the face with them.
“See ya later, Scotty,” he said, reveling in the sound of Derek chuckling as Scott juggled the keys. “You can drive yourself home.”
“But, but,” Scott sputtered, staring after him in shock. “Where are you going?”
“On a date!”
The diner doors clicked shut behind them softly, but Stiles heard the sound like a physical thing. He hated admitting when others were right, but Scott probably deserved that little talk tomorrow. Yet as Derek beckoned Stiles to follow him down the street, probably to where he had parked his car, he didn’t feel regret. He felt freedom. He threw on the widest grin he could and followed.