Chapter Text
“It just doesn’t make sense why we have to sit out here, to cheer for the team, when we are all going to be here tonight, cheering for the team,” Scott explained.
Stiles partially laughed, shaking his head. He stood and sat for the obligatory wave that Scott half heartedly followed. “You’re not mad that you didn’t make the team, right?”
Scott blew out a raspberry, as if the idea was absurd to him.
Stiles laughed.
“At least it doesn’t snow this early,” Allison stated from her spot next to Scott.
“It snows about a day a year,” Lydia replied as she leaned to look around Stiles and Scott, talking to Allison directly.
The band started to play a drum roll, meaning they had come to the end of the roster to announce the seniors—and most importantly, their captain.
Everyone cheered enthusiastically as the players took onto the field. Stiles cheered even for Jackson, feeling obligated to with Lydia right beside him. He knew Jackson’s threatening barbs were toothless now, but he still disliked him.
Stiles stood with everyone when they announced Derek’s name, a fond smile on his lips as he watched Derek run out onto the field, helmet in hand.
Derek held up his helmet to the cheering crowd on the bleachers, receiving a louder cry of approval. He stopped by the others, his eyes scanning the crowd. He smiled when he saw Stiles, lifting a hand to wave at him.
Stiles raised his hand, waving back. He felt the bundle of nerves in his stomach tighten—that feeling that was always there whenever Derek placed his attention on him.
A scoff came from behind them.
Stiles turned to see Theo a row behind them. “What?”
“Gay for Hale much?”
“Fuck off,” Scott snapped at Theo.
It wasn’t the first time someone made note of Stiles’ relationship with Derek.
Derek was captain of the football team, all around beloved by the entire school. The school saw Derek on the surface—popular and gorgeous—and Stiles didn’t compare.
“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Lydia sighed at Theo.
“Jealous of Stilinski?” Theo laughed, shaking his head. “As if.”
Stiles looked back at Derek, feeling something pull tight in his stomach, knowing there was more to it despite his own reassurances that he felt nothing but friendship for him.
~*~
Stiles pulled his books from the locker, rearranging his bag as he mentally checked off what he needed for the weekend.
A warm body pressed against his back, a familiar voice announcing, “You and I are going out tonight after the game.”
Stiles partially laughed, looking up when Derek slid into view, trying to ignore the press of Derek’s body against his.
Derek leaned against the wall of lockers, his free arm coming to rest against the top part of Stiles’ open locker. He leaned his head against the locker and his bicep, watching and waiting for Stiles to answer him.
“You haven’t even won yet, so you don’t know if you’ll be in the mood to go out,” Stiles retorted as he put away his chem book.
“Aw, you don’t believe in me?” Derek pretended to pout.
Stiles rolled his eyes when Derek laughed. “And where are we supposed to go?”
“Everyone’s going to Betty’s diner,” Derek stated. “We could grab some pizza. Then there is a party at Jackson’s.”
Stiles looked at Derek. “I don’t know, I don’t really have an outfit to wear,” he partially shrugged his shoulder, as if it didn’t bother him that most people in the high school didn’t believe he had a good fashion sense. He preferred graphic tees and plaid. He just happened to stand out when next to Derek.
“Come on,” Derek uttered as he took a step back, eyes flickering over Stiles briefly. “You always look good.”
Stiles felt a flush rush over him. He never understood why Derek said things like that, boosting his spirits and making him feel desirable. “Sure,” he skeptically scoffed.
Derek’s brow furrowed, a look of annoyance pulling at the corner of his lips. “You know, we could just hang out then at my house. Just the two of us.” He sounded near hopeful, as if he preferred that outcome.
Stiles reluctantly shook his head, writing it off as his imagination projecting. “No, you are the big hero,” he partially laughed, looking at Derek. “Besides, I’m sure Heather will want to go.”
Derek’s expression fell, a glimpse of disappointment flickering across his face. “Boo,” he muttered under his breath, turning to lean his back against the lockers as he let his arms fall to his sides.
Heather and Derek didn’t get along. Their fake smiles at one another were enough to tell how much they disliked each other. The only thing they had in common was Stiles.
“I know the code states that girlfriends and boyfriends come first,” Derek started, turning his head slightly as he looked at Stiles. His smile was warm despite how melancholy his eyes were. “I just miss you.”
Stiles felt as if the floor was swallowing him up the longer he looked at Derek.
These nights could be the last few that they had as the year ticked down until their graduation. Derek had a full ride pending on the scouts who wanted him, and Stiles was still finishing up his application to Beacon University. Being at different colleges, miles apart, meant that they’d likely be too busy for each other.
An unstoppable force tearing them apart. But he could hold on for now.
“Okay,” Stiles shakily answered, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’ll go with you after the game.”
The corners of Derek’s lips started to turn up into a small but hopeful smile.
It was different from the smile Derek did for football. It was always more personal—genuine—when he looked at Stiles.
“I’ll pick you up outside the locker room.”
~*~
Stiles waited outside the building, leaning against the bricks as he watched his peers celebrate their win. He faintly smiled when a group loudly passed him. He shifted his weight, knowing that Derek was taking longer than usual to come out of the locker room. He had hoped he hadn’t missed a message to meet him elsewhere. He was surprised when Boyd and Jackson walked out of the building doors next to him, without Derek.
“Hey,” Stiles softly called after them, his voice breaking through Jackson’s faint laughter.
Boyd turned and looked at Stiles. He seemed unaffected compared to Jackson’s apparent dislike at Stiles addressing them.
“Is Derek still in there?”
Boyd looked at the doors they just exited before nodding. “Scouts delayed him.”
“You might get a show if you go in now,” Jackson added.
Boyd shoved Jackson in not that playful of a manner.
“Thanks, Boyd,” Stiles curtly uttered as he turned to enter the building. He wasn’t sure what he was thanking Boyd for, but part of him wished he had stayed to see the annoyance in Boyd’s eyebrows reach Derek-level of annoyance. He reminded himself that Jackson was hardwired in being an asshole.
Stiles walked by a few other players, ignoring their idle chattering as he made his way to the men’s locker room. “Hello?” He called out when he opened the door. He heard the shower running, taking a step into the locker room as he waited a beat to confirm that no one heard him. “Derek?”
Another silent beat besides the running of the shower when suddenly the sound stopped.
Stiles lurched and stepped back out of the locker room when he saw a flash of movement—the glimpse of bare skin and white towel were enough to clue Stiles into the fact that it was Derek walking out of the showers. He wanted to give Derek his privacy, his mind thinking back to Jackson’s taunting words.
Stiles had seen Derek in nothing but his boxers before, even running into him in the hallway after Derek got out of the shower. He had the composure to turn around or dash for the bathroom afterwards, avoiding staring at Derek. It was stupid, but for some reason swim trunks held a different meaning to Derek’s nudity than a towel or underwear did.
Now, Stiles was thinking about Derek’s bare chest.
Stiles opened one of his phone apps as a distraction, scrolling through social media as he read more than one of his peers posting about the game. He noticed most of it was about it being the last game of the season. Some were significant others of cheerleaders and football players. Others congratulated peers on a game well won. Derek was a common feature in the posts. He was almost relieved it was over, grateful Derek only had the time and energy to devote to one sport. He wouldn’t have to go to another high school game now. He looked up when the locker room door opened.
Derek walked into the hallway, dropping his gym bag onto the floor as he pulled his shirt the rest of the way down.
Stiles caught a glimpse of Derek’s stomach, seeing the hair covering his abs. He looked up at Derek, hoping he wasn’t caught and the flush in his neck wouldn’t rise.
“Did you say my name?” Derek asked as he reached down to his bag, lifting the strap up onto his shoulder as he finally looked up at Stiles with a smile on his lips.
Derek was wearing a light cotton henley, the white much thinner than it should have been as it was obvious what Derek’s body looked like beneath the nearly transparent material. His jeans were a dark shade of blue, the kind he usually wore on days he didn’t have practice. It wasn’t weird for Derek to wear normal clothes, just a pleasant surprise to see him not in athletic wear.
It also meant he looked even more attractive than usual, and Stiles regretted going to Jackson’s party now. He’d be standing in the corner as more than one person fawned over Derek, and Stiles could think of a few people who’d be more than happy to distract Derek for the night.
“I poked my head in,” Stiles tried to nonchalantly say as he gestured his head to the doors. “Boyd and Jackson said you were held back by scouts.”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Nothing official, but it was reassuring,” he explained.
Stiles turned and started heading back to the doors, wanting to get outside in the cold. “Nobody falling at your feet and worshipping you?”
“Are you offering?” Derek replied as he followed Stiles down the hallway.
Surprised you’re not choking on Hale’s cock .
Stiles tried to snort out a laugh, despite the pit in his stomach at hearing Theo’s voice repeat just one of the taunts he had come to endure. “How does it feel being done with high school football?” He desperately changed the subject.
Derek sighed, sounding relieved. “Good,” he plainly uttered. He put a quick pace to his steps, catching up with Stiles in order to put his arm around his shoulders once they exited the building.
Stiles stumbled into Derek’s side, fitting underneath Derek’s arm. Ever since they were kids, he fit under Derek’s arm, but it changed in high school. Derek’s arm was heavier—warmer. It took everything in Stiles to not wrap his arms around Derek’s torso.
It didn’t matter that they were basically the same height now, Derek still put his arm over Stiles’ shoulders when he felt like it. Stiles liked it more than he should have—the affection of the most popular person would do that to anyone starving for attention.
And Stiles was starved for affection if Derek didn’t give it to him.
“It feels nice to be done with the bullshit,” Derek finally stated. His hand rested loosely over Stiles’ shoulder, his fingers just touching over Stiles’ collarbone.
Stiles snorted. He kept his eyes on the Camaro, knowing if he looked at Derek their faces would be too close. “You do realize if you go to one of those fancy football schools, you’ll end up on a team full of diva players, right?”
“My personal life will have nothing to do with them,” Derek countered.
Stiles snuck a side glance at Derek. “Well, according to everyone, you’re going to be named MVP, fourth year in a row.”
Derek smiled to himself. He slipped his arm from Stiles’ shoulders, popping the Camaro’s trunk to throw his gym bag in the back. He looked at Stiles. “Kind of gets anticlimactic.”
“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky at the party,” Stiles retorted, aimlessly walking over to the passenger door. He looked at Derek above the car’s roof when he didn’t answer.
Derek closed the trunk, jingling the keys in his hand as he looked down at them. He made a slight face before looking up at Stiles. “Is that what you’re going to be doing?”
Stiles released an unsure laugh, not knowing what Derek was getting at. “Not when I’m next to you,” he playfully replied instead, pulling open the passenger door. “I’m invisible then.”
~*~
Stiles was grateful Betty’s offered a decent booth size, feeling overwhelmed with just how many people wanted Derek at their table. He was about to wander off when Derek’s hand grabbed his, pulling him into a booth right after him.
Derek had been quiet during the car ride, his leather jacket thrown over the console and falling into the back seat. He leaned his elbow against the console as he shifted with ease, listening to the recap Stiles offered of what had been happening in the bleachers. He didn’t realize he was speeding until Stiles told him to slow down—“My dad won’t want to give you a ticket, dude.” The faster they got to the diner, they could call it a night, though.
Stiles sat beside Derek in the booth, joined quickly by Boyd and Erica. Isaac and Scott wound up sitting across from them, Allison sitting in Scott’s lap as they all continued to chatter. The booth was beyond capacity, though no one seemed to mind when they realized it was because of Derek.
More than one person congratulated Derek on a game well played, usually reaching over Stiles or Isaac.
Derek’s arm was resting on the booth’s seat, just behind Stiles, his body angled towards Stiles with his back pressed against the wall. His leg was bent, his knee flush against Stiles’ thigh. It was normal for them to be squished together like this, but the more Stiles started to think about it, the weirder he started to feel. He barely sat like this with Heather, unable to think about the last time they were even slightly public with their affection.
Stiles looked at Boyd and Isaac, their shoulders pressed against one another, Erica pressed against Boyd’s shoulder as she laughed at Isaac’s story. Erica’s beautifully manicured hand draped over Boyd’s shoulder as she leaned against him.
Derek faintly laughed at the end of Isaac’s story, his arm moving was a reminder of its weight behind Stiles.
“We should probably get going soon if we want to make an appearance,” Scott stated when he looked at his phone to see the time.
“Don’t really have to go,” Derek finally replied. He wasn’t surprised when everyone looked at him strangely.
“Jackson’s going to be pissed if you don’t show up,” Isaac said to Derek.
Derek picked up one of the straw wrappers from the table, flicking it at Isaac. “Jackson’s house is going to be a mess regardless of me showing up.”
Stiles looked at Derek.
“Everyone wants to celebrate your win,” Scott piped up.
“Their win,” Erica corrected Scott. “My man was just as much a factor in their victory,” she added, turning and giving Boyd a peck on the cheek.
“Isaac helped,” Stiles added.
“Thanks, Stilinski,” Isaac exasperated.
Stiles smiled, grabbing a fry from the basket. “But seriously, are we not going?” He looked at Derek.
Derek looked at Stiles, his free hand twisting his cup around on the table. He brushed condensation away with his thumb as a distraction when he looked away from Stiles’ gaze. “We could,” he half shrugged.
“Your last big farewell,” Boyd offered.
Derek shook his head. “Make an appearance then,” he uttered, looking at Stiles.
~*~
He had left Derek’s side for less than half an hour after they first arrived. Heather wasn’t answering her phone now, and he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do. He pushed through the crowd of cheering, and insanely drunk, teenagers in order to get to Derek. He hesitated when he saw Theo was near the keg with Jackson.
People were cheering and chanting Derek’s name, the group erupting in excitement when Derek gracefully dismounted his hand stand from the keg.
Derek’s expression blanked when he saw Stiles, as if he hadn’t been expecting him. He suddenly smiled brightly, moving forward to hug Stiles tightly against his chest.
Stiles allowed Derek to embrace him, his hands touching Derek’s shoulder blades. He looked over Derek’s shoulder, seeing Theo glaring at them.
“Jackson bet I couldn’t handle it,” Derek explained, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles pulled back from Derek, helping to keep him from swaying. “And now you’re smashed.”
Derek hesitantly laughed, wrapping his arm around Stiles, enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against his. He had left his jacket in the Camaro, knowing he’d misplace it in the party, and he didn’t realize the chill he felt until Stiles left his side. He held Stiles close, so much closer than he normally did. He would pretend it was the alcohol influencing him.
“I should find Heather,” Stiles stated, stumbling to the side when Derek swayed. His hand pressing against Derek’s chest to stable himself.
Derek shook his head. “She’s around somewhere.”
“She’s by the pool,” Lydia spoke above the booming music.
Derek partially glared at Lydia after Jackson handed him a bottle of Jager.
Stiles reached a hand up in concern, touching Derek’s arm that rested on his shoulders.
Derek hesitated, looking down at the bottle of Jager.
This was why Derek stopped going to parties. He didn’t like who he was when he drank—he didn’t like being like his father.
Alcoholism ran in his family, and he was ashamed to admit that he knew he could drink double what he’s had—that he had typically drank double of what he had. Everyone wanted to see him drink, to be the cool guy who could drink more than the others.
Stiles took the bottle from Derek’s hand when people started to chant for Derek to down it. He took a big gulp of it, the courage he needed, before handing it back to Jackson. He waited for Jackson’s hand to be just out of reach, then let go of the bottle. It slipped through Jackson’s fingers and bounced off the carpet.
“Fuck, Stilinski!” Jackson yelled at him.
Derek pulled Stiles back with him, away from the stained carpet and spilt bottle.
“You’re so fucking lucky,” Jackson snapped at Stiles.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Derek suddenly snapped as he took a step towards Jackson.
“He wouldn’t be here if you didn’t invite him,” Jackson countered at Derek.
Stiles wrapped his arm in front of Derek, his hand gripping tightly on Derek’s henley to stop him from fighting when he felt the lurch in Derek’s movements. “Ignore him,” he uttered as he steered Derek away from Jackson. “He’s being an ass.”
“Yeah, he is,” Lydia stated, lightly tapping a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. It was her way of warning him to back off.
Stiles walked Derek out to the backyard, finding even more people hanging out around the pool. He sat Derek down against one of the pillars that circled the pool. “Tell me you’re not going to fall in the water.”
Derek smiled. “I’ll sit right here,” he promised. He watched Stiles walking around the fringe of the gathered group, his smile faltering when he saw that Heather was sitting on the edge of the pool with the others.
Stiles touched Heather’s shoulder, gaining her attention.
“Hey! You came,” Heather spoke in a slightly clipped tone, her smile seeming forced.
Stiles looked down at her legs in the pool, observing the others around them. He didn’t know who they were, figuring they might have been Heather’s friends.
“A bunch of people went to Betty’s,” Stiles explained, allowing her to pull him down for a quick kiss.
Heather scrunched her nose at the mention of the diner. “Gross,” she answered.
Stiles turned to look back at Derek, worried he might have wandered off. He was vaguely aware of Heather saying something else, though the music was loud and her friends were obnoxious.
Derek was sitting exactly where Stiles left him, his eyes closed as he pressed his head back against the pillar.
“Okay?” Heather asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Stiles answered. “I’m going to get Derek home, I think he’s tired from the game.”
“Or just drunk,” one of Heather’s friends scoffed. “Someone said he did a keg stand earlier.”
“Well, we all know his dad’s a drunk,” Heather uttered with a scoffing laugh.
Stiles froze, an anger snapping in his spine. “Heather, that’s not funny,” he firmly stated, his voice barely hiding his anger as he bristled at her callousness.
Heather rolled her eyes at Stiles. “How often do you bring his drunk ass home?”
“Not that often, actually,” Stiles curtly replied. He didn’t care if he was seen as being a difficult boyfriend for not letting Heather’s comments slide. “He’s not his dad.”
“Whatever,” Heather forcefully stated. She didn’t want to get into a fight in front of her friends. “Bring him home.”
Stiles clenched his hand into a fist, wishing he had the nerve to say something else.
“I’ll see you, alright?”
Stiles sharply nodded, standing up quickly as he left Heather behind to go back to Derek.
Derek looked up when he heard Stiles’ approaching steps. He smiled up at him, slowly reaching up to take Stiles’ offered hand.
~*~
“I’m sorry I ruined tonight,” Derek softly confessed his regret.
“You didn’t,” Stiles argued, his hands twisting some on the steering wheel.
“Just drop me off at my house,” Derek instructed Stiles. “You can take the Camaro home.”
“I thought you said no one was home at your house,” Stiles replied, driving once more when he realized the stoplight was green—likely for a while before he noticed.
“I’m not a child, Stiles,” Derek bit out. “I think I can be alone for a night.”
Stiles wasn’t sure what clenched in his stomach. “Derek, you’re sleeping at my house so I know you don’t choke on your vomit.”
Derek huffed in disinterest, but he didn’t argue with Stiles. He closed his eyes as he started to drift in and out of sleep.
~*~
Stiles was pulling out some clothes, taking a pair of sweatpants out for Derek. He turned around, offering them to him. He pulled the sweatpants back against his chest when Derek walked by him.
Derek tripped over his feet as he toed out of his shoes. He yanked his shirt off over his head, tossing it down onto the floor by Stiles’ bed. He plopped down on the mattress, hand fiddling with his belt. He managed to get his pants down his hips before he fell back, staring up at Stiles’ ceiling as he started to get the spins.
He remembered drinking a good half of a bottle Jackson had given him even before the keg stand. He shouldn’t have, knowing his sobriety would go out the window that night if he did. But Stiles walking away to find Heather annoyed him. Everyone else had been staring at him expectantly, and it caved his confidence at denying the alcohol pushed at him.
He drew in a deep breath when he felt his jeans being pulled off the rest of the way. He looked up, seeing Stiles pulling his jeans off his legs. He felt a twinge of warmth pool in his gut before frowning when Stiles focused on the pair of jeans instead of him.
Stiles folded Derek’s jeans, bending down to pick up his discarded shirt as well. He forced himself not to look at Derek.
Derek turned, crawling up the rest of the way to settle into Stiles’ bed.
“You don’t want to shower?”
Derek grunted as he shook his head. He twisted, shifting his hips and legs to get under Stiles’ blankets. He pulled Stiles’ favorite pillow close, hugging it against his chest. He peered an eye open to look at Stiles when he felt the blankets being lifted to cover him more. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist before he could pull away, his coordination likely giving away that he wasn’t as drunk as everyone likely thought.
Stiles looked down curiously at Derek.
“Stay,” Derek mumbled, pushing the blanket down below his hips.
Stiles hesitated, forcing his eyes to stay on Derek’s face despite being aware that Derek was pushing the blankets away. “Der, both of us won’t fit,” he argued, his throat dry.
“We always sleep together when we have sleepovers,” Derek replied, pulling Stiles down into the bed.
Stiles’ knee hit the bed, his hands pressing against the mattress on either side of Derek’s ribs, unintentionally boxing Derek in beneath his body.
The last night they slept in Stiles’ bed, they were fourteen and Derek hadn’t gained his muscle mass for football. Their sleepovers typically happened at Derek’s, though less and less as high school came to a close. That meant they typically slept in Derek’s bed—his queen bed, not Stiles’ twin.
Derek offered up Stiles’ pillow, an olive branch to get Stiles to stay.
Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, faintly nodding for the first time. “Okay, I just have to shower.”
Derek nodded, closing his eyes in exhaustion.
Stiles slipped out of Derek’s hold, lingering for a moment as he watched Derek sleep.
He wasn’t sure when he became attracted to Derek, friendship turning into an admiration tinged with affection. But that was always how Stiles felt about his friends. Derek just happened to be more . So much more that the lines started to blur.
Stiles brushed the back of his hand across Derek’s cheek in a loving manner, pulling his hand back when Derek snuffled out something unintelligible.
We all know his dad’s a drunk .
Heather said it so easy, as if that was something for Derek to be ashamed of.
Derek had, in the past, drank at parties, where he gave in to peer pressure—something Stiles didn’t really understand at first.
But Derek was only popular as long as the crowd liked what he did. And Stiles wondered if Derek would ever get away from that.
Just like that, he was eleven years old, staring at Derek in wide-eyed horror when he saw the fresh bruise circling Derek’s eye.
Stiles couldn’t help remembering how scared he had been to tell his dad why he didn’t want Derek to go home that night. He hugged his pillow tightly when John asked if there were other bruises, his stomach twisting when Derek only nodded.
Derek slept in Stiles’ bed for the next month while Talia figured out the next steps to take. Derek’s grip on Stiles would tighten, his body stiffening whenever they heard the Sheriff’s footsteps in the hallway.
Stiles would run his fingers through Derek’s hair until they both fell asleep. He wasn’t old enough to understand it then, but it was easy to realize now that Derek was afraid those steps weren’t the Sheriff’s.
Stiles pulled himself away from the bed, gathering up the sweatpants he had meant for Derek to use. He needed to take a shower and try to forget a few things before bed—primarily, the fact that Beacon High’s star wide-receiver and future Prom King was currently sleeping in his bed, nearly naked.