Work Text:
It's Valentine’s Day.
The cafeteria looks like a bunch of cupids had a glitter orgy and then threw up all over it; tacky paper lace doily hearts and those creepy faux-silk roses cover every available surface not already occupied by food. The colors red and pink have been obnoxiously prevalent today, but Stiles thinks they’ve crossed a line when he sees the mashed potatoes that come with the (mystery) meat loaf are pink. Some things are sacred, and his (powdered) mashed potatoes happen to be one of them.
Scott and Stiles are standing in line to get lunch when Stiles sees Derek Hale enter the cafeteria and walk directly to his usual table; the one in the corner by the window overlooking the lacrosse field with a clear view of the forest line in the distance. Choice seating.
Stiles digs his elbow into his friend’s side, rolling his eyes when Scott complains of knobby elbows bruising his ribs, and nods over at the senior’s otherwise empty table. “We should invite Derek Hale to sit with us today.”
Scott looks at him like he’s just suggested they go slaughter a litter of newborn kittens. For funsies.
“Dude,” Scott hisses at him, shaking his head emphatically. “We should definitely not do that.”
Stiles is taken aback by Scott’s vehement reaction. As far as he knows, Scott has never even spoken to the taciturn senior. “Um, why not?”
Scott rolls his eyes like for once, Stiles is being the obtuse one.
“Because he looks like a serial killer.”
Stiles laughs a little before realizing how seriously Scott is looking at him, as if he actually believes their senior classmate might be a serial killer.
A Dexter-in-training.
“Dude, aren’t serial killers supposed to like, get off on hurting others and torturing animals and shit?” Stiles asks him, placing his finger on Scott’s slightly uneven jaw line and pushing gently until he’s looking in Derek’s direction. “Is the guy not reading about the conservation of wolves and other wildlife right at this exact moment? Seems counterintuitive, wouldn’t you think?”
Scott slaps his hand away and goes back to staring at the pink mashed potatoes and meatloaf.
“He looks like he boils kittens for breakfast,” Scott mumbles, sliding his tray along the metal counter in front of them.
As is common with his ADHD, Stiles is distracted by the image Scott’s mumbling has presented and decides that yes, he wants to follow this rabbit down its hole.
Besides, Scott’s circuitous logic can be entertaining to behold, at times.
“So, wait – and I’m only enquiring for the sake of curiosity – would he be boiling these kittens to eat? Or are they simply part of his daily routine?”
“UGH – Stiles,” Scott groans, clearly disturbed by the turn his friend’s thoughts have taken.
“Would the kittens be like, an addition to his oatmeal; or would it be for purely recreational purposes?” Stiles holds out his hand as if consulting an invisible clipboard while brandishing an imaginary pen. “Imagine this, Scotty: make coffee – black and bitter – like my soul (check); boil kittens (check); read Comics section of newspaper (check).”
Scott shoves at Stiles’ shoulder as his friend cackles, drawing the ire of the lunch lady in front of them, Doris. Aw, and Doris usually loves Scott. She gives him double dessert sometimes because her daughter works with his mom at the hospital. Stiles is so weird.
Stiles calms down once Doris turns her stern gaze on him, as well.
“I’m just saying the guy is quiet. That’s not a crime; the guy doesn’t even have any speeding tickets.” Stiles says, still defending the youngest (and most intimidating) Hale.
Something clicks in Scott’s head and he glances at his friend quizzically, “How do you know that?”
Stiles shiftily avoids Scott’s gaze before mumbling, “My dad. He may have – mentioned – something, anyway . . . I just know, okay?”
His cheeks and the tips of Stiles’ ears are bright pink; Scott has been friends with Stiles long enough to know he’s embarrassed about something, but Stiles is talking again before Scott can try and figure out the cause for his friend’s, admittedly, only slightly stranger than usual behavior.
“And besides – he comes to every single one of our lacrosse games,” Stiles says, as if showing school spirit is proof of his mental stability or something. Well joke’s on him – Jackson is on the team and Finstock is their coach.
“Even the away ones! That is true, unwavering dedication, my friend. And I, for one, cannot believe that such a stalwart fan of lacrosse could ever be evil. Slander!”
Stiles looks over at Scott when he’s finished his rant, but his friend is simply shaking his head ‘no’.
Well, can’t win ‘em all.
The boys make their way over to their own table, conveniently located right near Derek’s, so that Stiles’ back is approximately two feet away from Derek’s back.
The lighting in this spot in the cafeteria is particularly nice this time of year, that’s all Stiles is saying.
Scott seems to be digging into the pink mashed potatoes with relish while Stiles considers inviting Derek to sit with them anyway. Stiles can’t say why, but he knows Scott’s impression of Derek is wrong. Bad people don’t read books about wolf conservation, or the mating habits of said wolves. Yeah, Derek is quiet – has never, in fact, said one word to Stiles; despite being lunch neighbors since September and attending every one of their lacrosse games.
Even the away ones.
Stiles just has a good feeling about the guy. Like he could trust him with his secrets, things he doesn’t even tell Scott, and Derek would never breathe a word to anyone. Derek hardly breathes a word to anyone anyway, which is maybe why Stiles has that impression, but still . . . it isn’t something he’d be able to explain to Scott – this unearned trust he’d willingly grant a complete stranger. He can’t even explain it to himself.
Stiles looks at Scott, his mouth flecked with the pink remains of his mashed potatoes and then looks over his shoulder at the solid line of Derek Hale’s back. Derek’s breathing rate is steady, soothing, his shoulders shifting minutely with each inhalation; he does seem to be absorbed in his book.
Maybe next time.
“So, we still on for Madden this weekend? Your house, I provide the soda and curly fries,” Stiles asks, bumping his fist to Scott’s, who raises his in acknowledgement.
Stiles scoops up a small serving of the pink mashed potatoes and takes a cautious bite, before discovering that they taste the same as the regular ones.
Scott is steadily eating his lunch, but Stiles is a multi-tasker and can talk and eat at the same time.
“Do you think I should send Lydia one of those fake-silk roses the Classroom Cupids™ have been delivering all day?” Stiles asks, somewhat rhetorically, because he’s almost positive he’s going to send one no matter Scott’s answer.
Scott looks at him and smiles before shrugging, “Why not? Couldn’t hurt. What step is this in your 10-year-plan again?”
Stiles gives Scott his practically patented ‘I’ve had enough of your bullshit’ face before answering seriously, “Phase 3: Provide gifts on all major religious and commercial holidays.”
Scott laughs at him, but Stiles is only half-joking.
“And hey – where’s my creepy faux-rose, BFF?” Stiles teases Scott, smiling widely at his friend’s eye-rolling. “I’m a little offended, all these be-winged Classroom Cupids™ wandering in and out of my classes all day with their mini-golden harps and not one rose for Stiles?”
“I feel like Gretchen Wieners, Scott! I don’t want to be Gretchen Wieners in this scenario.” Scott laughs as Stiles insists, “I wanna be Glen Coco!”
Scott is still laughing until Stiles declares that if “I’m Gretchen Wieners in this scenario – that makes you Karen Smith!”
Stiles absently notes Derek pack up his stuff and leave, but he doesn't think much of it because of his engrossing conversation with Scott about Mean Girls; they’ve moved on to casting Jackson as Regina George.
*
Stiles is sitting in his last class of the day, freshman lit with Mr. Morris, when a Classroom Cupid™ (the most cherubic looking one, in Stiles’ opinion, with his wide blue eyes and angelic golden curls) wanders in and says his name.