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Stiles likes the library. He loves being a librarian. In a lot of ways it makes him think of detective work, where he needs to find the solution to other people’s problems. Only here it’s less about murder and robberies, and more about research, school projects and finding the next big adventure.
It’s Friday morning, just past eight, and he’s barely had time to sit down behind the front desk after opening the doors to the public, before someone walks in. It’s a man, probably half a decade or so older than Stiles, who looks a little wary as he approaches the desk. He’s beautiful, though, Stiles realises as he gets closer. Dark hair, carefully pushed back and probably with more product than it seems. There’s this perfectly even shade of stubble across his chin, the kind Stiles doesn’t have DNA to even grow. As he stops in front of Stiles, carrying a notepad and a pen like a shield in front of him, it’s clear that he probably hasn’t slept in a while. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a twitchy air to him, as though he’s had too much coffee.
“How can I help you?” Stiles asks, and is very proud of himself, since he doesn’t look at the curve of the man’s shoulders or the definition of his pecs in that very well-fitting maroon henley at all.
“I don’t know if this is the right place for this,” the man says, sounding apologetic.
“Depends. If you need someone to slay a boar for you, I’m probably not the guy you want.”
There’s a twitch at the corner of the guy’s mouth, and even though it’s a small reward, Stiles counts it as a win.
“I need help with research,” the man confesses. “I’m a writer, and I feel like I’m treading deep water with this new book and some of the subjects. My editor wants me to fact check stuff extensively.”
Nodding, Stiles grabs a pen and taps it against his knee as he leans back in his chair. “Judging by the way you speak, it sounds like you’ve written at least one book before?”
The man nods.
“How did you go about your research then?”
“I wrote about things I knew. This time, there’s a lot I don’t know.”
Humming to himself, Stiles contemplates leaving the front desk immediately and show the guy all the wonders of research, but Erica doesn’t start her shift until nine and Mrs. Roberts has already told him that he needs to be more responsible. “Books are treasures we need to protect! The visitors are the pirates, and we, we need to do everything we can to keep our treasure from their dirty paws!” Stiles never bothered to tell her that everyone always roots for the pirates these days.
“Well, as it happens, you’re in luck. I’m pretty terrific at research, and I can help you with pretty much anything you want to dive into, but I can’t leave this chair until nine. So maybe buy a coffee, entertain yourself for an hour, and come back then? If you still need my help, that is.”
The man looks a little overwhelmed, like it’s too early for that many words.
“Also, maybe grab a nap or something? Or make that coffee a double shot, because research will turn your brain to mush, man.”
Nodding, the man takes a couple of steps towards the doors, before he turns back to Stiles again. “Do I need to make an appointment? I have a pretty tight schedule for this, and I can’t afford to lose this appointment to anyone else.”
“Nah.” Stiles waves him off, but it looks like this is not the answer wanted. “What’s your name?”
The man hesitates for a moment, like he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable with giving Stiles his name. “Derek.”
“Alright.” Stiles digs out an appointment sheet from the pile of crap never used on the desk, and fills out the form hastily before he hands it over. “This magical piece of paper will force me to abandon any other meeting I could possibly have to help you with your research. Now, go grab yourself a coffee. I talk a lot. You’re gonna need the extra energy.”
Eyeing him for a moment, Derek almost-smiles and then tucks the sheet into his notebook before he leaves. Stiles stares at the ceiling to keep himself from checking out everything from the neck down on him. Mrs. Roberts strictly bans all flirting with customers. Visitors, Stiles tells himself. They’re visitors, not customers.
He spends the remaining part of the hour sending out reminders to people who haven’t returned their books, and rereading Tidals by D.H. Smith. It’s probably his most favourite book he’s ever read, and he loves it more every time he reads it. When Erica shows up at ten-to-nine, she looks suspiciously hung over and Stiles suspects that she might have come in to work directly from whatever club she went to last night.
“Do I smell?” she asks him, clutching her venti Starbucks mug like it’s a life jacket.
Stiles sniffs the air, but all he can catch is her perfume. “You stink of old lady perfume, but I’m guessing that’s on purpose.”
“That’s the only thing that’ll cover up cigarettes, fog machines, alcohol and sweat,” she says.
“You’re lucky Mrs. Roberts isn’t coming in today.”
She snorts at that. “Why do you think I chose today to be hungover at work? Also, she’s travelling in Europe all summer. She must’ve saved up vacation days from the last twenty years at least.”
Twisting off the cap of the Advil bottle, Stiles places a couple in her outstretched hand. “I can’t let you nap in the back, though, I’ve got a research appointment in like five minutes.”
“Seriously? At this hour? What student is even awake right now?”
“S’not a student.” Stiles shrugs and tosses her a bottle of gatorade. “I think.”
“No?”
“He’s having trouble with research for a book. So if there’s a guy coming in with an appointment sheet, you can call for me. I need to set up the computer and stuff.”
“Appointment sheet?” Erica asks, looking very sceptical. “Do we use those? Do we have those?”
“No and yes, in that order. Apparently he needed some kind of guarantee that I’d have time for him.”
Erica snorts loudly. “Like you would ever be fully booked.”
Glaring at her, Stiles retreats towards the research rooms. “I’ll have you know, I’m terrific at research.”
“I know,” Erica calls after him. “It’s the tattoos that scare them off!”
Sighing to himself, Stiles pulls down the sleeves of his cardigan further, wondering why the ink on his arms seems to have such impact on people. It’s like his credibility as a librarian suddenly plummets as soon as anyone catches a glimpse of them. He doesn’t regret them for a second, but during late spring and summer it gets a little warm wearing long sleeves at work. The fact that he needs sleeves to cover up his sleeves is pretty ridiculous.
He sets up the computer in one of the small rooms they provide for people who need to do research and might need some guidance. He figures that it might also be a nice place to get some peace of mind. In a few hours, this place is going to be swarming with students, and even though it’s a library, being quiet isn’t exactly mandatory here.
His phone dings with a message just as he’s scrolling through the ridiculous number of databases they can provide, just to refresh his memory.
> Your H.O.T appointment has arrived.
Rolling his eyes, Stiles heads towards the front desk. He’s just lucky she didn’t use the speakers to declare that message. It’s happened before.
Derek’s standing there, waiting for him, with the appointment sheet in one hand and his coffee in the other. His notebook is secured between his upper arm and ribcage. He must’ve taken Stiles’ advice, because he looks a lot less exhausted.
“You ready?” Stiles asks him when he’s close enough and, Derek nods. “Awesome. I’ve got a room set up over there, so unless you wanna check some books out or anything, I suggest we head over there.”
He ignores the way Erica indiscreetly smirks behind her Starbucks mug. He has no idea what she’s told Derek during the short time he’s been waiting, and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t want to know.
Derek follows him quietly and looks a little unsure when Stiles points at the chair in front of the computer. “Sit down.”
Stiles himself takes a seat on the edge of the table, probably breaking all the rules about personal space, and watches as Derek creates a pile of his notebook, appointment sheet and coffee on the small space left on the table, between the computer and the wall.
“So what’s your book about?”
Derek’s face scrunches up, like Stiles just asked him if he’d like a plate of haggis. “I’d rather not say.”
Shrugging, Stiles pretends like he’s not disappointed. “Okay, so what do you need to research?”
When Derek makes that same face again, and Stiles can’t help but sigh.
“Dude, if I’m going to be able to help you with this, I’ll need to know what you’re looking for. There are literally hundreds, thousands of databases, so if I don’t know what you’re looking for, I can’t point you in the right direction. I’m sure there’s a paragraph in my employment agreement about confidentiality regarding authors’ book ideas and research areas.”
Derek stares at him for a moment, and seems to contemplate this, before he sighs in defeat. “I need to research medical conditions, weapons, and some mental illnesses.”
Okay, Stiles can deal with that sort of vagueness. “Alright. We’ll start with the medical stuff, and you’ll have your hands full for a week at least.”
Nodding, Derek looks at him intently, like he expects Stiles to uncover an entire world he never knew about. It’s pretty accurate.
“Okay, so first things first. Wikipedia is not the place to look for the truth, okay? Don’t trust those articles, unless they’re my articles. I’m super anal about research.”
Derek chokes on his coffee, and Stiles can’t help but grin. “So, for the medical stuff, there’s a whole bunch of databases and academic journals specifically for that. Some of them need special access, so if you find an article in a journal you want and you can’t access it, you can just ask me and for a small price I can give you anything you want.”
“A small price?” Derek snorts.
“Uh-huh,” Stiles nods. “Maybe my name in the acknowledgments of your book. Preferably first. In like...font size twenty-four. Bolded. Maybe also underlined, depending on how much you appreciate my help. I’m willing to negotiate about the underlining.”
Derek raises an eyebrow at him.
“It was worth a shot,” Stiles grins. “Anyway, just ask if you need access. Sometimes some searches might give you nothing, and you might want to try some of the restricted databases, or you might want some suggestions of what keywords to use. I’ll help out with that too. We’re not really supposed to just hand out access information to just anyone, but I’m passionate about book research, so.”
Stiles proceeds to go through the mechanics of some of the databases, and how to restrict the search to peer-reviewed stuff, and Derek keeps nodding and staring at him like he hung the moon. Stiles tries, and fails, not to acknowledge that tiny tick in his chest that he always gets when he feels important.
“So, any questions before I leave you to your treasure hunt?”
Derek smiles a little. “No, I think I’m good, thanks.”
Stiles gives him two thumbs up. “Awesome. I’ll be at the front desk until four, when I’m off. If you need some more help you should find me before then.”
“Thanks.”
When he gets back to the front desk, Erica is leaning back in the chair, feet resting on the desk, and she’s smirking at him like a mad person around the straw to her jumbo sized smoothie. He strongly suspects her boyfriend dropped it off on his way to work. It’s so unfair.
“So, did you get into his pants?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows.
“Really? How are you not too hungover for this discussion?”
“Please, I’m always up for talking about hot dudes whose pants you need to get into,” she says, sucking her straw obnoxiously.
Shrugging, Stiles tries not to mentally go there. He has a bad habit of getting carried away in these discussions, and then disappointment usually hits him like a freaking fridge to the face when it doesn’t happen in real life. Erica is an Olympic gold medal-winning enabler.
“I met him for the first time two hours ago. Also pretty sure he’s as straight as can be,” he says defensively.
“Apparently not straight enough to keep his eyes off your ass for too long,” she snorts, and waves at a couple of students walking through the doors. Stiles barely registers them. He hates when she does this. When she plants little thoughts in his head of maybes. She’s an expert.
The rest of the day passes the way it usually does. The same questions, the same problems needing to be dealt with, the same annoying students wanting his attention, and the same complaints concerning the penalties of late book returns. He forgets all about Derek until he’s already home, and has exchanged his button-up and cardigan for a t-shirt. Apparently he managed the rest of the day on his own, because he never came up to ask any other questions. If he’d left, it must’ve been during Stiles’ lunch, otherwise he would’ve noticed.
He crashes on the couch and zaps through the channels until Scott gets home.
◊
Much to his surprise, Derek shows up the following day just after the library opens. He looks a lot less tired today.
“Morning,” Stiles greets him, raising his coffee mug as if in a toast.
“Good morning.” Derek has the notepad with him again today. “Can I use the same room?”
“Sure. How did the research go yesterday?”
“Good, thanks. I found a lot of useful stuff.”
“No Wikipedia?” Stiles asks him.
“No Wikipedia,” Derek confirms with a small smile.
Stiles raises his mug again, and follows Derek with his gaze until he disappears around a corner. Then he quickly puts his coffee down, swearing under his breath, and resists the urge to bang his head against the nearest object. Raising his mug? Way to look like a complete loser.
◊
A few weeks later, Stiles works the night shift during finals week. The library has extended opening hours until two a.m. to allow the students to stay longer. It’s closing time, and the larger areas are already empty. He’s drilled them well.
As he does his last round, checking all the smaller rooms for people who have accidentally fallen asleep, he finds that the light is still on in the room Derek usually occupies. As he approaches, he can hear the steadfast clatter of typing and yeah, as he cracks the door open, there’s Derek. He looks lost in whatever he’s writing, and Stiles can hear the music from his earphones from where he’s standing in the door.
“Hey,” he tries, but Derek doesn’t seem to hear a thing.
Reaching out, Stiles taps him on the shoulder after a moment of hesitation. He almost expects Derek to jerk and stare at him in confusion and semi-terror the way Scott always does when Stiles does the same to him, but Derek just pulls the earphones out and twists around in the chair. He doesn’t look surprised until he sees Stiles standing there, as though he’s forgotten that he’s in a public library.
“Sorry to bother you and drag you out of whatever zen place you were in, but we’re closing.”
With eyes widening, Derek checks the watch on his wrist. “I must’ve lost track of time. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all cool, I’m just making sure that I don’t lock you up in here until morning.”
Derek looks a bit tired, but not at all wrung out the same way he did that first morning. There’s an excitement to his gaze.
“How’s research going?”
“Good,” Derek says, nodding as if confirming this to himself. “I asked your colleague for what databases to use for weapons.”
“Oh, Erica?”
“I think that’s her name.” Stiles watches as Derek gets up from the chair and starts collecting his stuff, putting it in the messenger bag he’s brought with him. “You don’t happen to know anywhere I can find insight into police work, do you?”
“Like in specific crimes, or…?”
“No, I’m more interested in how the police actually works. Their routines regarding certain types of crimes, or things like that.”
Stiles is just about to say no, when he realises that Derek looks so hopeful. “As a matter of fact, I kinda do.”
“Really?”
“Yep, my dad’s a sheriff. If you have time to wait around for like ten minutes while I close up, I’ll give you his contact information.”
“No problem, I’ll need to get some dinner anyway.” Derek shrugs, and hoists his bag up, the strap resting safely over his broad shoulder.
“Dinner? At this hour?” Stiles asks, as he turns off the lights and quickly checks the other rooms, before retreating to the front desk to logout of the systems.
“I must’ve gotten lost in my research, I was only planning on staying here until eight.”
“I’d have starved to death by now,” Stiles confesses, as he grabs his totebag and turns off the desk lamp. “I’m grabbing late night waffles at this awesome diner I’ve discovered at the next block over. Wanna join in?”
When he glances at Derek, he looks a little hesitant.
“It’s on me.” Stiles offers him a smile, and Derek’s mouth tugs into a smile.
“Actually, I think it’s on me. It’s the least I can do thank you for all your help.”
“Dude, you’re right.” He can’t help but grin when Derek full-on smiles at him. It’s the best smile Stiles has seen in a while. It contrasts a little to the rest of him, which is often brooding and focused. Derek’s smile is wide, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, and suddenly he looks a few years younger.
“I think you even deserve a dessert.”
“Oh god,” Stiles groans and slaps a hand over his heart. “This is better than a proposal.”
Derek laughs, and Stiles’ chest feels all light, because when Derek laughs, his nose scrunches up and he looks down like he’s a tiny bit embarrassed. Stiles seizes the opportunity to guide Derek through the front doors, and turn the alarm on, before he locks up.
“Ready?”
Nodding, Derek hooks his thumb in the strap of his bag and follows when Stiles starts walking. Compared to the heat indoors from too many people in one place, it’s a little chillier outside. Stiles pretends that he isn’t fascinated with the way goosebumps spread across Derek’s arms, where the rolled-up sleeves of his henley has left skin visible.
Stiles kind of wishes that he could touch. That it wouldn’t be weird. Instead he focuses on getting them both to the diner, which is pretty empty at this hour, and smells of fries and artificial milkshake flavours. As they sit down on opposite sides of the table, he notices that Derek’s beard has grown a little longer.
“So, the waffles are good?” Derek asks.
“The waffles are the best. The best thing you’ll ever eat in your life.”
“Wow, you’re really giving me high expectations here.”
Stiles grins at that. “And your mind will still be blown.”
Myrna comes over almost immediately to take their orders, and Stiles loves her to death, okay, but that indiscreet blinking she’s doing towards him after Derek’s placed his order is not cool.
“Sorry about her,” he says, feeling a little uncomfortable around Derek suddenly. “She’s like an extra mom, so she takes great pride in embarrassing me.”
Thankfully, Derek doesn’t look uncomfortable at all. “No need to apologise.” And then he smiles like it isn’t two-thirty in the morning, like the smell of fast food won’t stick to their clothes for hours after this, and like Stiles is the only person in this room with him.
Right now, Stiles doesn’t feel all that hungry for food anymore.
“So, is there a deadline to your research?” he asks, just to distract his heart from beating any faster.
Derek blinks, like he’s zoned out for a moment. “Four more weeks.”
“And you’re keeping your schedule?”
“More or less, yes. Your research help made things more effective for me.”
“I’m just happy to help. It’s my job, too.”
“For a small price, right?” Derek smirks, just as Myrna brings them their waffles and coffees.
Sipping his coffee, Stiles points at the pile of waffles with his fork. “I think this more than covers it.”
He does his best not to get too caught up in the sound Derek makes when he takes his first bite. But it sort of sticks to him, and it’s not like he hasn’t realised that Derek’s hot before this. Rather, it’s as though Stiles just now starts thinking about what Derek’s looks do to him. Maybe it’s because Derek’s laugh, smile, dry jokes and intelligent questions wear his defences down in no time. Maybe it’s because the way Derek looks at Stiles’ arms when he rolls up his sleeves by habit, like the ink there is a whole new mystery to uncover. Maybe it’s because when Derek looks up at him next, meeting his gaze, Stiles just knows that he isn’t the only one who’s feeling something.
“So, do you do this a lot?” Derek asks him suddenly.
“Eating waffles with strangers?”
Nodding, Derek eats the last piece on his plate.
“Not really. I often just get food to go, I don’t live that far from here. It’s nicer this way, though. I like the company. It’s way better than whatever crap you can find on TV at this hour.” Dear god. “That sounded a lot better in my head,” he confesses.
Derek just laughs and orders dessert for them both, as promised.
The next time Stiles glances at his watch, it’s four in the morning, and he has no idea where time has gone. “I hate to break this off, because I’ve had such a great time, but my shift starts at ten tomorrow and I need to squeeze in a few hours of sleep.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I should head home and sleep, too.”
Their possibly-awkward goodbye is saved by Stiles’ phone ringing. It’s Scott.
“You take that. I’ll see you tomorrow.” It’s not a question, and Derek smiles again. Stiles suddenly wants to make him smile all the time.
“I really hope that you’re not planning on being there at eight! You need sleep.”
“Noted.” Derek disappears in the opposite direction with one last smile, and Stiles accepts Scott’s call.
“Hey.”
“Dude, where are you? I’ve tried texting you a million times.”
Wincing, Stiles wonders how he could forget that Scott usually waits for him to get home after his closing shifts. “Sorry. I had waffles with this dude who comes to the library a lot, and lost track of time.”
“It’s past four!”
“I know, I told you, I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”
Scott is silent for a few moments. “Is this the guy with the research you’ve been talking about?”
“I don’t talk about him,” Stiles says immediately.
“Dude, you talk about him. And I think you should do some more talking while you’re heading home.”
“Ugh, fine,” Stiles sighs. “I’m just gonna plug in the headset and send a text to Erica while I remember it, hold on a sec.”
◊
He manages to get a few hours of sleep, but he’s still pretty exhausted as he steps through the doors. Erica is in her usual spot behind the counter, with her feet resting on the edge and obnoxiously drinking ice tea through a straw.
“Morning,” he greets her, clutching his coffee mug in both hands, praying that the barista remembered to make it a triple shot.
“Tell me about the date,” is the first thing she says. Demands, more like it.
Taking a long sip from his mug, grimacing at the bitter taste (yep, definitely triple shot) he steels himself for her prying questions. “It wasn’t a date.”
“Mhmm, that’s why I get a text at five a.m. telling me that I need to lie for your date.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
She points at him with the straw to her drink, narrowing her eyes at him. “You told me to put a note on the door to the room he’s usually in and claim that it’s booked, so he would have somewhere to work when he comes in today.”
“That’s not lying, that’s being nice!”
The smug look she gives him, as she puts the straw back into her drink, makes him instantly worried. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Just making clear exactly who that room was booked for.”
Oh my god. “Oh my god.”
He really, really hopes that Derek isn’t here yet, and that he hasn’t seen whatever it is that she has written on the note. Some students look at him oddly as he rushes past, but most of them are too used to seeing him run around all over the place, so they don’t even care.
Much to his relief, the room is empty. And the note isn’t half as bad as it could’ve been. It just reads:
Booked for Stiles’ hot author "friend." Students - keep your distance. Bribes will be accepted and considered at the front desk.
Rolling his eyes, Stiles grabs a new piece of paper from the nearest printer and settles for a simple: BOOKED.
Erica still looks smug when he comes back.
“He didn’t come in already, did he?”
“Nope, been on watch for you, but no sight of him. I’m guessing you wore him out last night.”
“Yes,” Stiles scoffs. “I fed him into oblivion with waffles.”
“Sounds like something you’d do.”
Stiles decides not to reward that with an answer, but grabs the ice tea from her hand and takes a huge swig before he hands it back.
“Thief,” she mutters, but he knows that she’s not even a little irritated. “How’s your dad by the way?”
“Good, busy.” Speaking of his dad, he was supposed to give dad’s contact information to Derek yesterday. However, it might be a good thing to give him a heads up before a random dude calls him. “Actually, I’m just gonna give him a quick call.”
“Pretty busy here, son,” his dad says as a greeting, when Stiles has called him from the tiny office Mrs. Roberts usually camps out in.
“It’s your coffee break,” Stiles snorts.
“Exactly.”
“I’m not even gonna comment on that. I just wanted to ask you something real quick anyway, before I get back to work.”
“About what?”
Stiles peeks through the blinders at the door, just to see if Derek’s here yet. No sight of him. “I met this dude at work, who needs someone who’s familiar with police work and routines to ask some questions for his book.”
“Alright, as long as he’s nice to you.”
“Than– wait what?”
“I’m not stupid, son. Call me tomorrow, like usual.”
Okay, so the fact that his dad assumes that Derek is someone special to him isn’t that odd, considering Stiles really wouldn’t ask his dad to take some of his time to answer questions just for anyone. At the same time, Stiles only realised like ten hours ago that he might be into Derek in more ways than just distant eye candy.
He probably should ask himself why the people around him seem to know these things before he does. Every time.
Derek doesn’t show up until past lunch. He smiles and raises his hand as a greeting, but doesn’t stop to chat. Stiles is both horribly relieved and a little disappointed. Much to his surprise, Derek comes back again almost immediately, and is a little less smile-y and slightly more uncomfortable looking.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be annoying, but the room I usually work in is booked and the others are occupied. Is there anywhere else I can camp out?”
Erica barks a laugh, before hip-checking Stiles as she passes, disappearing into the office.
“Did I say something funny?” Derek asks, his ears turning a little pink.
“No, no, sorry. We put that sign there for you, actually.” Stiles scratches his neck and wonders why the hell he thought this was a good plan. He must be coming off as such an idiot.
“Oh,” Derek says and looks at him in surprise, before a small smile creeps across his face. “That’s really nice. Thanks.”
Stiles can’t keep himself from smiling back. “No problem.”
It’s a few hours later when he remembers that he was supposed to give Derek the contact information to his dad. Erica is busy helping a student with setting the margins in Word, so he takes the opportunity to go talk to Derek.
He knocks twice before he cracks the door open, just like last night. Derek’s listening to music again, and seems to be reading an article at the screen in front of him. He looks up when Stiles taps him on the shoulder.
“Sorry to bother you, I just forgot to give you this last night.” He hands over the piece of paper with his dad’s name and phone number, and Derek smiles without taking his eyes from Stiles.
“This really means a lot, thanks.”
“It’s really not a big deal. I’m just happy to help.”
“Can I thank you with another late night meal?” Derek asks, and for a moment all Stiles can hear is the excited thumping of his own heart.
“I’d like that a lot.” Because this means a real date, right? If Derek didn’t want to date him, he wouldn’t have offered.
“Do you work late tonight?”
“Eight. Do you have lots of stuff to do?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” Derek confesses, looking a little disappointed.
“I have the closing shift the rest of the week, though, and then we’re back to regular hours again.”
“So tomorrow night?” Derek asks, and he’s smiling again.
◊
The following evening, Stiles feels like he’s going to burst through his skin the last two hours of his shift. He knows Derek is around, Erica informed him of that as soon as he stepped through the door at the start of his shift.
He’s just about to do the last round and check to see if all the rooms are empty, when Derek shows up the front desk, with his thumb hooked in the strap to his bag. Stiles almost drops the set of keys in his hand, and he feels a little warm all over. The last time he acted like this before he even kissed the person was with Lydia Martin in high school.
“Hey,” he says, smiling a little at Derek’s disheveled hair. “How did research go?”
“Good,” Derek says, smiling back. “Are you closing up?”
“Yep, just gonna do one last check. You can wait here and I’ll be right back.”
Derek stifles a yawn and nods, and Stiles just knows that he’ll need to kiss him before he goes home tonight. He just has to.
The library is thankfully dead empty, and he finds Derek waiting for him leaning against the front desk. His eyes are closed, like he’s about to fall asleep standing up.
“Falling asleep on me there?” Stiles asks, and smiles when Derek straightens immediately, blinking back to focus.
“Sorry, long day.”
“No need to apologise. Coffee sounds mandatory, though.”
“Yeah, I was gonna ask you if you would mind going back to the diner? I need those waffles.”
Stiles laughs and locks the place up behind them. “Waffles sound absolutely perfect.”
They walk close together the short distance to the diner. Myrna gives him another indiscreet wink when she spots him, but Stiles doesn’t even care this time.
“So, how did you end up being a librarian?” Derek asks, halfway through his stack of waffles.
“I already told you that I’m super anal about research.”
Grinning, Derek nods and sips his coffee. “That you did.”
“Also, I’m very passionate about books and literature in general. Especially children’s books and the YA genre.”
Derek looks a little surprised at that. “You don’t exactly look the part,” he says and points with his fork in the direction of Stiles’ arms. He doesn’t say it in a judgmental way. It’s just a statement. Stiles finds that he doesn’t mind.
“Yeah, I know. I had no clue it would actually give me trouble for real. Like, I thought kids were gonna look at them and parents were gonna frown, but I really didn’t think it would prevent me, for real, to get the jobs I wanted, you know?” Sucking in a breath, Stiles puts his mug down and folds his napkin. “I wanted to work with kids, pushing newer and more diverse books into school and stuff. I really wanted to have story times, and use material that hasn’t already been told a thousand times.”
“But your tattoos got in the way?” Derek looks confused. Just as confused as Stiles was when that explanation was presented to him every time he was declined a position.
“Yeah, and I don’t get it, because they’re in no way sexual or anything like that.” He rolls up his sleeves as far as they go, to show his collection of superheroes. “I have a DC sleeve and a Marvel sleeve,” he snorts. “Couldn’t choose.”
Derek leans closer, and when his fingertips make contact with Iron Man’s fist, Stiles feels like he’s going to burst through his skin again.
“Do you have more than sleeves?” Derek asks, not even looking up from where he’s tracing the circle of Captain America’s shield. God, Stiles loves the shading on that one.
“A couple,” he says, and he grins when that seems to pique Derek’s interest. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime, if you keep inviting me out to waffles in the middle of the night.”
“Noted,” Derek says quietly, eyes practically shining. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Uh-huh, definitely.”
Stiles hasn’t forgotten his promise to himself when they leave the diner, and he pauses on the sidewalk outside. Derek’s standing so close to him now, and there’s no way that he isn’t thinking about kissing, because his gaze seems locked on Stiles’ mouth.
“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asks, and Derek’s gaze snaps up to meet his. Nodding, he leans in. Stiles doesn’t even have time to register the answer, before they’re kissing.
Derek’s lips are soft against his. Soft, but sure. He knows what he’s doing. And it feels like Stiles’ entire body sighs in contentment when Derek places a hand on his hip and pulls him those last few inches closer. He tastes like waffles and coffee, and Stiles doesn’t want it to stop.
They don’t pull away until Myrna taps the diner window from the other side. She’s attempting to give them a stern look, but she’s smiling too wide for Stiles to care.
“We’re outside!” Stiles protests, knowing how often she kicks people out for making out indoors. “Oh well,” he says, turning back to Derek who’s put a few inches between them. His hand is still on Stiles’ hip, though. “I should probably catch some sleep anyway. But tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Derek promises, and leans in to give him a quick kiss before they part ways.
◊
The rest of the week makes Stiles wonder if someone dumped him straight into a romance movie. Every night after closing up the library, they eat at the diner and kiss like mad people before they part ways.
Derek greets him when he shows up at the library before lunch, and then Stiles doesn’t see him until closing time. It’s not like Derek’s trying to hide it, though, last night he even held Stiles’ hand the short walk to the diner.
And Stiles… well, he’s just over the moon right now.
“Scott,” he calls out to the bathroom before he leaves for work.
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna be home tonight?”
“Yeah, Allison’s coming over, why?”
“No reason. I might not sleep here, just so you know.”
The bathroom door opens with a bang, and Scott’s stands there in a towel and a hairbrush in his hand, surrounded by steam from the shower he must’ve just taken. “What?”
“I might not sleep at home tonight,” Stiles repeats.
Scott blinks, and then he starts to grin. “Nice. Did you bring condoms? Lube? Are you checking in at a motel?”
“A motel?! Do you think I’m a prostitute?”
Scott pulls a face. “Hotel, then? Does this Derek guy have roommates too?”
“Dunno.” Stiles shrugs. “Maybe?”
Humming thoughtfully, Scott starts brushing his hair in a way that makes Stiles wonder how he even has any hair left on his head. “Well, if I haven’t heard from you by lunch tomorrow, I’m calling the police.”
Snorting, Stiles just waves before he leaves for work. He really hopes that Derek doesn’t have any roommates around tonight. He also really hopes that Derek wants this too, that Stiles hasn’t read all the signals wrong.
When Derek arrives, Stiles motions for him to come up to the front desk. Erica has removed herself from the situation, but he’s convinced that she’s still listening to everything from the other side of the office door.
“So, I was wondering, tonight...did you want to grab take out instead?” He hates that he can’t stop himself from fidgeting with a pen laying on the desk. Derek just looks confused. “I mean, and maybe go to your place, in case it isn’t crowded by your roommate and his girlfriend tonight, like mine is?”
If he isn’t mistaken, Derek’s ears turn a little pink, and for a second Stiles is scared that he’s made a mistake. But then he swallows and looks Derek in the eyes, and Derek gives him this look that makes Stiles’ stomach clench. “No roommate. And take out sounds good. See you at closing?”
“Yeah, perfect.” Stiles is just about to turn his attention back to the stack of complaints they’ve received during the week, when Derek leans over the edge of the desk and kisses him. It’s not the quick, sweet peck Stiles expects, but slow and savouring and Stiles just knows that tonight is going to be freaking amazing.
As soon as Derek’s disappeared around the corner, the office door opens and Erica leans out, still sitting on the desk chair. “So you gonna bang tonight?”
“That’s the expression you go with?”
She shrugs but her grin is huge. Stiles already knows that she’s won.
“You do not tell Boyd about this,” he warns, but she waves her phone like an apology.
“Too late. Sorry.”
“Christ,” he sighs, and grabs the stack of complaints. At least he can entertain himself by having people yell at him over the phone. That’ll distract him from everything else for sure. It kind of doesn’t. He keeps zoning out to thoughts of what Derek looks like naked, if he’s vocal or quiet, and what he looks like when he comes.
Kissing Derek was both stupid and great, he realises, as he still has trouble thinking about anything else other than having sex as he checks out books that evening. It’s like his brain got a promise it’s not willing to let go of.
The library is practically empty a good hour before closing time. Most students are already done with finals, and have no use of being in the library instead of sleeping anymore. There’s an itch under his skin, and he occupies himself with being extra careful when he checks for remaining students. There are none.
So he decides to close up early. Mrs. Roberts is going to kill him if she finds out, but she’s not going to, so it’s all good. Erica owes him a good cover story for this for all the times she’s been hungover at work.
When he opens the door to the room where Derek’s sitting, he finds him scribbling on his notepad, earphones plugged in. In the pale light from the screen, Derek’s still devastatingly handsome. Stiles lets his gaze follow the curve of Derek’s shoulders, the way the muscles in his arm work when he writes, and how he bites his lip in concentration.
“Hey,” Stiles says, stepping into the room, and squeezes his shoulder.
“Sorry, I forgot about time,” Derek says immediately and pulls his earphones out.
“No, I’m early. Uh, but the place is empty so I wanted to ask you if maybe you wanted to get out early?”
Derek twists around in his chair and looks at him intently.
“Unless you have a lot of stuff that you need to finish first, of course.”
Quickly stuffing his notepad and pen into his bag, Derek stands, crowding Stiles against the doorpost in the small space. Stiles is pretty sure that they can both hear his heart beating like crazy.
“Getting out early sounds like a plan,” Derek says softly, and kisses him before he has a chance to reply. It’s less slow than earlier today, but definitely just as demanding. And Stiles really likes when people make it clear that they’re into him. Feeling almost feverish, he snakes a hand around Derek’s neck, pulling him closer, combing his fingertips through the soft hair there. He’s trapped between the doorpost and the heavy press of Derek’s body against his, and he has no idea how kissing can turn him on this bad.
“Hey,” he says softly, licking his lips as he creates just enough space between them to be able to speak. “I’m all for sneaking out early, but I’m pretty sure my boss would have me fired if something happened here.”
“Alright.” Derek kisses him again, like he can’t keep himself from it, but it’s briefer this time. “I’m just going to turn the computer off and I’m good to go.”
Stiles doesn’t even try to look away from Derek’s ass when he bends over the desk to log out.
Once they’re outside, Derek kisses him again. “I have food at home. So, unless you really want take out I vote for heading to my place right away.”
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, and sneaks his hand under the hem of Derek’s shirt. God why has he not done this before? Derek feels perfect under his fingers, and his own belly clenches when he can feel Derek’s abs contract under his palm. “I’ll go with that.”
Derek lives a ten minute walk from the library, in one of the newer skyscrapers. The doorman greets him with a Mr. Hale, and Stiles realises that he had no clue about Derek’s last name is until now.
He half-expects Derek to press him up against the elevator wall during the ride, but all Derek does is sneak a finger under the waistline of Stiles’ jeans – not that that isn’t enough to make him grow harder in his pants. And the last few floors, all Stiles can focus on is the small line Derek draws with his fingertip against his skin.
“Seriously, that’s all you’re gonna do?” Stiles breathes finally, and when he glances to his side, Derek grins.
“Surveillance cameras.”
Stiles is just about to protest, because it’s not like the people checking those tapes would care much if the two of them were making out like crazy anyway, but the elevator stops before he has a chance to say anything.
He doesn’t know what he expected, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. Not this sleek, clean, highly impersonal place, where no one seems to really live.
“Are you rich?” he blurts, before he has a chance to stop himself, but the way Derek pretends not to hear his question as he checks the messages on his voicemail tells him that the answer to that question is probably yes.
If he wasn’t already hard, and so, so desperate since their kiss earlier today, he probably would’ve asked thousands of questions. But now, all he does is slide his hands up under the back of Derek’s shirt and kiss his neck.
“Maybe we can save the food for later?”
Derek just hums as he turns around, pulling Stiles closer by the belt loops of his jeans, the tip of his nose grazing Stiles’. “You have a lot of great ideas today.”
Things get a little hazy from there. Stiles can’t get them out of their clothes fast enough. Derek pauses only briefly to drag a fingertip across the EKG tattoo above Stiles’ heart, and the roman numerals of his mom’s birth and death date just below it. But he doesn’t ask any questions, he only kisses Stiles harder. And when they’re finally naked, with a trail of clothes from the living room to Derek’s bedroom, he feels like he’s already wired so tightly that he might explode at any moment.
Derek’s mouth is everywhere, sucking marks into his skin like he wants them to be as permanent as Stiles’ tattoos. Stiles groans, body jerking, when Derek’s mouth finds the soft skin on the inside of his thighs. His toes curl when Derek cups his balls in his hand, and then gently drags the pad of his thumb down his perineum. Stiles bites back a tight sound when Derek licks a broad stripe from the base to head of his dick, and oh god, he’s not going to last long.
“Wait,” Stiles gasps, grabbing a fistful of Derek’s hair without thinking. “Wait.”
“Something wrong?” Derek asks, and Stiles tries to not think about the concerned tone to his voice, because Derek is already too freaking perfect.
“No, nothing’s wrong.” Sucking in a deep breath, Stiles rises up on his elbows, and tries to think even though Derek’s breath is ghosting over his dick. “Maybe...maybe we can save blowjobs for later, because really, I’m pretty desperate right now.”
“Yeah?” And then Derek’s lips are on his again, and Stiles feels like he’s going to burst through his skin, when Derek’s hard dick drags against his own. “How do you want it?”
Normally, Stiles would flip over on his stomach in a heartbeat, because that’s definitely how he wants it. But when Derek pulls back an inch, making brief eye contact before he leans in for another kiss, Stiles realises that this is what he needs. “Like this,” he says, and feels almost shy, because things are suddenly a lot more intimate.
But Derek just hums, almost-smiling, and proceeds to work Stiles open with more gentle focus than anyone Stiles has ever been with before. And Stiles is sweaty, panting and begging long before Derek adds a third finger, and he has to reach down and squeeze the base of his dick not to come right then.
“Seriously,” he pants, not even caring that he already sounds completely out of it. “If you don’t get inside me now, I’m gonna come.”
The fact that Derek looks at him like he wouldn’t mind this at all makes him feel too big for his skin. He watches, half-dazed, as Derek rolls on a condom and he sighs, sighs, with his eyes rolling back when Derek pushes into him. Fuck.
Derek is so careful at first, and somehow still setting Stiles’ entire body on fire with the way he gets it just right. And for a moment Stiles feels like he would be content doing nothing but this for hours, with Derek’s forehead resting against his, breathing as one for a while. But then, Derek’s meticulous self-control cracks, as Stiles wraps his legs around his waist.
“Fuck,” Derek groans, pressing his face to Stiles’ throat, mouthing a new mark into his already tender skin.
“Yeah, come on,” Stiles grunts, fisting the damp strands of hair at the nape of Derek’s neck, moaning as Derek pushes into him harder.
He’s pretty sure he loses it completely, because his brain turns all fuzzy and incoherent when Derek sits back on his haunches, grabbing his hips and pounds into him relentlessly, over and over. It’s like Derek knows that Stiles about to come before he does, because suddenly there’s a hand around his dick and he’s pretty sure his vision goes white as his entire body seizes.
The next moment, he feels the press of Derek’s face against his throat and the cracked, low moan, as he stutters and stills.
Stiles just breathes for a while, waiting for his heartrate to go back to something semi-normal, for the blurry edges around his vision to get clear. He feels sadly empty when Derek pulls out and ties off the condom, and instantly better again when Derek presses soft kisses to his throat, jaw, cheek, nose and mouth.
“I’m glad I skipped dinner,” he manages finally, when the odd tight feeling in his throat starts to go away. Derek laughs against his chest, and pushes up onto his elbows.
“You hungry?”
Pausing to check, Stiles tries not to think about how adorable Derek looks with his hair all crazy and that content look on his face. “Do you have ice cream?” he asks instead of please don’t make me leave.
Derek frowns, thinking. “Maybe. Let me check.”
Stiles smiles to himself, staring at the round shape of Derek’s ass as he walks stark naked out to the kitchen. Stretching, his spine cracking pleasantly, Stiles looks around the room. The bed is huge, and there’s a big bookcase against the wall. Most of the room consists of big windows and white curtains that hide the view. He can’t help but smile when he spots two familiar books in the bookcase.
“So, you like D.H. Smith’s books?” Stiles asks as soon as Derek steps through the door. He’s carrying a tub of ice cream and two spoons. Still naked.
For a moment, Derek looks like a deer in headlights, but then he blinks like he’s confused. “Hm?”
“I saw their books in your bookcase. D.H. Smith? They’re my favourite author.”
“Oh,” Derek says, and Stiles wonders if he’s still too blissed out to think. “I didn’t know that.”
Then, it’s like his brain connects to the rest of his body, and he gives a spoon and the tub of ice cream to Stiles, before sliding in under the covers. “I don’t know for how long it’s been in my freezer, but I think it’s still edible.”
Laughing, Stiles looks down in the tub that seems to contain more ice than actual ice cream, but Derek looks so proud of himself for his find, so he can’t decline. “I’m sure it tastes great.”
Surprisingly enough, it does. Somewhere half-way through it, Derek rides him to what feels like an inch of his life, and Stiles really didn’t think he would be able to survive two of those orgasms in one night.
The remaining ice cream is almost completely melted, but they finish it anyway, probably ruining the sheets. He curls into Derek’s side, and closes his eyes, feeling strangely content. Derek pushes his fingers through his hair, and Stiles smiles to himself.
“Tell me something you really can’t stand in a relationship?” he asks Derek against the hair on his chest.
“Infidelity,” Derek says simply. Stiles can’t agree more with that. “You?”
“When they’re keeping things from me. My ex did that. He basically had an entire life I didn’t know of. I can’t stand it.”
Derek’s fingers pause in his hair for a fraction of a second, before Stiles feels the press of his lips against his forehead. “That makes sense.”
◊
When Stiles wakes up at noon, the sun is glaring through the curtains. Derek is still sleeping next to him, and he looks so blissed out that Stiles’ chest hurts just a tiny bit.
He finds his phone in the pocket of his jeans, lying on the floor, and groans when he sees the number of missed texts and calls from Scott. He types in a quick:
< Hey, sorry, just woke up.
> Did you forget about Lydia, Danny and Jackson visiting today? They’ll be here in less than an hour.
Swearing, Stiles glances at Derek, who’s still far away in sleep.
< On my way home
“Hey,” he whispers, and kisses Derek’s shoulder. “I need to go. I forgot that my friends from high school are coming for a visit.”
Derek mumbles something inaudible, but he blinks sleepily like he’s at least waking up.
“I’m leaving my phone number, and you call me, okay?”
Derek’s hum sounds like an agreement, and he responds sleepily to Stiles’ kiss. Getting dressed, he can’t seem to stop smiling, and when he looks back at Derek still lying in bed just before he’s about to leave, his chest goes tight. God, he’s so into this guy.
He keeps checking his phone the entire afternoon and evening, even though he loves having his friends for a visit. It’s just like he can’t concentrate properly right now, when Derek’s all he can think of.
There’s still no missed text or call when he checks his phone just before going to bed. Maybe Derek’s been busy all day. He seems to be one of those people who forget about everything when they’re working. Still, there’s this nagging feeling at the back of his head, telling him that this isn’t a good sign.
He ignores it until he’s back at work two days later, and there still hasn’t been a word from Derek. And according to Erica, he hasn’t been to the library, either.
Neither she nor Scott ask him about it, but he’s pretty sure that they know. At first, he’s just confused, wondering if he accidentally gave Derek the wrong number, but that wouldn’t explain why Derek hasn’t been by the library since that night. So he’s stuck with asking himself how he could interpret everything so wrong. Then, he’s devastated. Of course he would be stupid enough falling for a guy he knows nothing about. Nothing.
And after that, he’s mad for a week. Erica walks circles around him, and Scott sleeps at Allison’s. The people leaving complaints end up apologising when he calls them.
“So, why don’t you just go over there and yell at him instead of yelling at me?” Erica snaps one evening, four weeks later. Stiles still hasn’t heard a word from Derek. “You know where he lives, don’t you?”
That’s all it takes to have him crumble into a tiny, devastated pile. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“It’s okay,” Erica says softly and pulls him into a tight hug. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“I can’t believe I got played.” There it is. The first time he’s said anything about it out loud. He has no idea how just a few words can make him feel like someone’s ripped his heart out.
“I don’t get it, either.” Erica strokes his hair. “It’s okay to be sad.”
After that, Scott stays home with him. They play all their favourite video games again, and after three months, Stiles starts feeling like his feet are back on the ground. He doesn’t worry that Derek will come through the library doors anymore. Well, at first he hoped, and then he worried. He doesn’t look at his phone for texts or missed calls for numbers he doesn’t recognise.
He just stays away from guys, ice cream, and waffles, and concentrates on work and friends. It’s August when he comes in to work and Erica looks at him like someone’s stolen Christmas.
“What?” Stiles asks immediately.
“This was left for you.” She holds out a book-shaped gift, wrapped in comic book paper tied together with brown strings.
“Who left it?” But he already knows.
“Derek,” she says, and Stiles almost drops the gift as he accepts it, because it feels like someone’s punched a hole in his chest.
“I can put it in the document shredder for you.” She tries to make it sound like a joke, but Stiles knows that she’s dead serious. And he wishes that he was strong enough to have her do it.
“I think I need to open it. To get closure.”
She looks at him with big, concerned eyes, and her voice is so incredibly soft when she says: “What if all you get is your heart crushed, though?”
Sucking in a breath, Stiles looks down at his shaking hands and how his knuckles have turned white against the gift. “I’m not really expecting anything else.”
She kisses his cheek and hugs him tight before he locks himself up in the office. The strings are tied tightly, and it takes him several minutes to untie them. He pretends not to see that the frames on the comic wrapping are the same ones he wears on his arms. Fuck Derek.
He already knew that it would contain a book, but this is one he doesn’t recognise, and he’s even more confused when he notices that it’s written by D.H. Smith. When he turns it over, the back clearly states that it’s the third and final installment in D.H. Smith’s best-selling series, and he’s even more confused, because that book isn’t supposed to be published until Christmas.
The cover protests as he cracks it open. The first pages is empty. For some reason, Stiles thought there would be an explanation. He doesn’t find it until he reaches the acknowledgements.
“Stiles. I wish, perhaps foolishly after such a long time, that I hadn’t kept secrets from you. Most of all I wish I had been brave enough to call and explain. Please, come find me if there is still a chance.”
He has no idea for how long he sits there and stares down at the words. It’s not until his tears smudge the ink that he realises that he’s crying. When Erica knocks at the door, he just unlocks it for her.
“What was it?” she asks, staring at him like she’s not sure if he’s going to break.
“It’s his fucking book,” he breathes, voice cracking.
She looks like she’s about to ask more questions, but he pushes the book into her hands instead. She reads the acknowledgements over and over. “I don’t get it,” she says finally. “This is his?”
“Yeah.” Stiles sinks down on the table. “I told him that I can’t stand people who keep secrets from me. And he must’ve freaked out, since he hadn’t told me he was D.H. Smith.”
She doesn’t quite understand, he thinks, because she still looks confused. Suddenly, Derek’s reaction to when Stiles asked him about the books makes so much sense, and the way he froze when Stiles told him he can’t stand secrets.
He’s too overwhelmed to know if he’s angry, upset, or relieved. It’s like his thoughts are a bundle he can’t sort out.
“I think I need to go there and get some answers. Can you cover for me?”
She looks at him for a long time, before she nods. “Of course. I’m going to call you in three hours, and I’ll need you to answer just so I can see that you’re okay.”
Stiles nods, and his feet feel heavy as concrete when he slides off the table. “Yeah, okay.”
◊
The elevator ride is horrifying. He knows that Derek knows that he’s here, because the doorman called up to ask him if he was expecting a visitor.
It feels like his heart is stuck in his throat, beating so hard that he’s almost suffocating, when the elevator stops. And then there’s Derek, staring at him like he isn’t sure if Stiles is even there. He looks so vulnerable and terrified, and then he says: “I’m sorry,” completely defenselessly.
And Stiles crumbles like a house of cards.
“I don’t understand,” he says, anger already long gone, as he steps into the hallway. “Why didn’t you just call to explain?”
Derek takes a deep breath, and for a moment, Stiles thinks that he’s going to look away, but he doesn’t. “It’s so clear now, that I should’ve done just that. But at the time...I felt like I had been lying to you on purpose, and I was so afraid of what you’d say. When you said that you can’t stand people who keep secrets from you, it felt like I had messed things up.”
“Not telling me that you’re a best-selling author from the moment we met is not the same thing as keeping secrets from me.”
“When I realised that, I thought it was too late to just call.” Derek rubs a hand over his face, and makes a frustrated sound. “I have this way of thinking too much, and when I’m done thinking I realise that I should’ve been thinking a little less.”
Stiles knows that he should be more wary, that he should question this more than he is right now. But Derek looks like he’s in pain, and Stiles’ heart is beating like it’s found home.
“Maybe we can sit down for a bit and talk this through?” he asks, and follows Derek further into the apartment when he nods. The little hesitance he still holds disappears as soon as he notices a familiar sheet of paper on Derek’s fridge. It’s the appointment form.
“You kept this?” he asks, dumbstruck and when Derek’s ears turn pink it feels his heart is going to break itself.
Three hours later, Stiles feels like a thousand pound weight has dropped from his chest. It’s like he can breathe again, and he doesn’t even have to half-lie to Erica when he sends her a text saying that he’s okay.
When he looks over at Derek on the other side of the kitchen table, his chest aches. Derek looks so hopeful, and Stiles thinks, hopes, that with time things will be more than just okay.
◊
Stiles is still in the acknowledgements when Derek’s book gets published at Christmas. “Stiles. I know this is not in font size twenty-four, nor is it underlined. But it is bold. Like you.”