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Stiles sits in a pretty uncomfortable folding chair in a pavilion by a stunning lake and tries his best not to panic. He's just here for the arts & craft group that he found online. That's all. There's nothing weird about it. He came here on a whim, thinking maybe he could get some help with the knitting project he decided to take on. It's not like he did lots of research or stalked the meeting place.
After all, if he had he wouldn't have just looked up and made mortifying eye contact with Derek fucking Hale, of all people. Now, Derek looks like he's patiently talking to the old lady sitting next to him, but Stiles had seen the murder in his eyes. Derek isn't happy he's here, and at this point, neither is Stiles. He has an unfortunate reaction to Derek's murder brows—awkward boners.
"What sort of craft did you bring?" the lady sitting next to Stiles asks him. She sounds like she's asked the question more than once.
Derek glances up, and his expression is challenging before he returns his attention to the lady sitting next to him. He's wearing glasses. Stiles has no idea why a werewolf would need glasses, but they somehow make Derek even hotter than he is normally.
"Uh, knitting," he says to the lady next to him, very belatedly. "I'm not very good."
"That's OK," she says cheerfully. "No one is when they start. Did you need some help?"
Stiles drags his attention all the way away from Derek. Maybe he can just ignore him and it will all go away.
"Uh, yeah," he says. "That would be great. I'm Stiles."
"Oh!" she says with an amount of delight that has never encountered Stiles' name. "Oh, how wonderful. I'm Teresa. Let's see what you have going on."
Stiles has no idea why that's wonderful, but he's eager for help. He bends his head close to Teresa and tries to watch while she deftly fixes the hash he'd made of his hat. He says that maybe he should have tried a scarf, but she agrees with the blog he'd found that a hat is a better first project.
By the time Teresa fixed his problems and showed him how to do the ribbing correctly, the time allotted for the group is almost at an end.
"I'm sorry I took up all your crafting time," he tells her.
"Oh, no problem at all, dear," she says. "Anything for you, Stiles."
There's a weird emphasis on his name, but right then he notices Derek standing beside his Jeep, presumably waiting for him. He swallows hard, giving Teresa a noncommittal answer when she asks if he'll be coming back. He packs up his hat and heads to face the music.
"I swear I didn't know," he says when he gets close enough to Derek that a human could reasonably hear but no one else will be able to.
"Get in the car," Derek says.
He climbs into Stiles' Jeep without waiting for an invitation. Not that there was any chance Stiles would argue with him.
"Where to?" Stiles asks.
"The loft," Derek says, rolling down the window to let in the autumn breeze.
Stiles obediently points the Jeep in that direction. He waits to see if Derek will say anything. When he doesn't, he says, "I didn't know you would be there."
Derek makes a humming sound. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
It's so far from what Stiles expects he has to turn his head to stare at Derek. To his surprise, Derek looks calm, not at all upset.
"Yeah," Stiles answers hesitantly. "You aren't upset?"
"No," Derek says.
"Dude, you looked like you wanted to eviscerate me," Stiles says.
"Don't call me dude," Derek answers, but there's no heat behind it.
Stiles just snorts. Silence falls between them, but it's oddly comfortable. After a minute, Derek shifts in his seat.
"I thought you followed me," he says. "That's why I was mad, until I saw you had a project with you. What is it supposed to be, anyway?"
"A hat," Stiles says.
Derek laughs. Stiles almost swerves into the next lane at the outright joyous sound. It's that unexpected. He stares at Derek until the werewolf makes a motion like he's going to grab the steering wheel.
"Watch where you're going," he says.
"You're acting like a pod person," Stiles says, but he faces forward again.
"So, you wear glasses," he says when Derek seems content to stay silent.
"For some things," Derek answers. "Werewolves still age, you know."
Stiles slants a look at him. "You're not that old," he says.
Derek just shrugs. "I ended up needing them early. They barely have a prescription."
Stiles supposes that makes sense, but it's still a surprise to him. It seems to be the day for it.
"I found out about the group from the library," he offers.
"They'll be glad to hear that," Derek says. "You know, it's not all relief."
Stiles looks at him, not sure what he means.
"That you didn't follow me to the group," Derek elaborates.
"You wanted me to stalk you?" Stiles asks in confusion.
Derek shrugs, but his face is tinged pink.
"It depends on what kind of interest was motivating you," he says.
All the hair on Stiles' body raises. It feels like tingles are running up and down his limbs and spine. Derek can't mean what he thinks he means...can he?
"Are you saying you would be OK with me stalking you?" he asks as they pull into the parking area outside of the loft.
He turns off the engine, throwing the Jeep in neutral and putting on brake. Then, not at all knowing what he's going to see, he turns to face Derek. Derek whose face is closer than Stiles expects.
"Hey," Stiles says like an absolute idiot.
Instead of saying something mocking, Derek smiles at him, then reaches up and wraps his hand around Stiles' neck, his fingers spearing into his hair. Stiles nearly stops breathing as Derek gently tugs his head forward and rests their foreheads together.
"If you had followed me to be nosy or make fun, I would have been mad," Derek says, and Stiles can feel his breath.
He's going to die of an inopportune boner, that's all their is to it. He tries to stay still and not whimper or something mortifying. Derek is still talking, his voice low like he's confiding in Stiles.
"If you were following me because you were interested in me, though," Derek says. "Then, I might have to do this."
Stiles starts to ask Derek what 'this' is, but Derek's lips land on his open mouth and he loses track of everything else in the world but Derek and his mouth.
All too soon, Derek is pulling back. Stiles chases him, and Derek laughs again.
"Come on," he says, "I'll order pizza and you can show me your hat, and no that's not a euphemism."
Stiles follows as Derek gets out of the Jeep. He may not have followed him to the knitting group, but he's certainly willing to now.