Archive of Our Own

It was 3:37 pm. Which was too late to stop for coffee, even if Stiles was just a volunteer and his boss was someone as nice as Ms. Ito.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Satomi!" Stiles dropped his backpack onto the table in the break room and dug around in its front pocket to pull out his ID. The red strap with the words "Beacon Hills Public Library" in white print was wound several times around the badge, and Stiles blew out a breath as he concentrated on untangling the knot in the lanyard before slinging it around his neck. "First day back at school stuff. I had to sign up for my extracurriculars, and it took a lot longer than I expected. But the good news is I have Tuesdays and Fridays free, as well as most Saturdays." He ruffled a hand through his hair, frowning when he realized he'd been talking to himself. "Satomi?" he asked, turning toward the office next to the break room. The light was on and the door was cracked open, but she could have been on the floor, and he might have missed her when he came in.

"Stiles!" Apparently, Satomi wasn't too upset with Stiles' tardiness, if the huge smile she wore as she came out of her office was any sign. "You have perfect timing!"

"I do?" 

"We have a new volunteer. He's also a senior at Beacon Hills High, and such a nice young man—"

Stiles held back a snicker. He'd be hard-pressed to name one person in his class whom he'd categorize as a 'nice young man.'

"—and his parents have been generous supporters of the library over the years." Satomi beamed. "I was hoping he could shadow you today."

Stiles didn't have the heart to burst her bubble. Working with the newbie for a day or two should bring her opinion of him down to earth. "Of course. Who's the new guy?" he began as he stepped through the door.

Oh, no. Oh hell, no.

"Stiles, this is Derek Hale. Do you know each other?"

"Yeah." Unfortunately, Stiles added to himself as the smile he'd been wearing tightened at the corners.

Who doesn't know Derek Hale? might have been a better question. The Hale family went back as far as Beacon Hills itself, and not only were they rolling in money and revered by most of the town, but the gods must have decided to tip the scales even further in their favor because all the Hales were ridiculously gorgeous. Derek was not only six feet tall, but at seventeen years old, he had the piercing green eyes, muscular body, and stubble-covered, hard-as-granite jawline of a Greek god. He was also Beacon Hill High's starting quarterback, the captain of both the football and basketball teams, and an All-Conference second baseman. Because what's a little more gold dust when you've already got all that going on for you?

For Stiles, however, it might as well have been fool's gold. Derek Hale was the darling of ninety-nine percent of the population of Beacon Hills, but he also lived to make Stiles' life miserable.

Derek's eyes, which had widened from where he'd been sitting next to Satomi's desk, settled into something more neutral. "I know Stiles, ma'am. We have AP History and Chemistry together."

"How wonderful! Well, in that case, I'll leave you in Stiles' capable hands."

Hands that were now itching to strangle Beacon Hills' golden child. 

Stiles reminded himself that he was in a public setting and that incarceration might interfere with his graduation plans. "Right," he managed, slowly unclenching his fists.

"That's great. Thanks, Ms. Ito," Derek said as Satomi exited the office. He caught Stiles' glare, then leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, his biceps straining the fabric of his shirt as he smirked like he'd been working there forever. "This should be fun."

Stiles ground down on his molars so hard his jaw hurt. "What are you doing here? Don't you have practice for one of your bazillion sports?" His eyes widened as Derek stood up and started unsnapping the buttons that lined the side of his track pants. "Hold on. This is a G-rated area, not the locker room. If you need to change, the bathroom's down the hall."

Derek rolled his eyes as he turned over the flap of his pants. "What exactly do you think happens in the locker room?" he asked. A brace encircled his knee, one that had a metal dial at the joint and several straps above and below it. "I tore my ACL this summer. Doc says I could be ready to get back on the field in a month, but if I go back too soon and re-injure it, that'd be it for any competitive sports for the rest of the year."

Derek could still ride the bench, though. He could still bask in the glory as his friends and followers fawned all over him. "I mean… that sucks and everything, but why the library?" Stiles asked. "Do you even read?" 

Something like hurt flashed across Derek's face, but it disappeared so quickly Stiles must have been mistaken. "First time for everything."

"Oh my god, you totally did this to boost your college application, didn't you?"

Derek didn't deny it. "It wouldn't hurt," he confessed with a shrug. "Plus, I get to see your friendly mug outside of school, too."

"Lucky me," Stiles retorted, then let out a loud sigh. "Well, come on, then." He hurried out the door, taking a small satisfaction in knowing that Derek would have to button up his pants and rush to catch up.

*

The eraser of the pencil Stiles was tapping against the desk bounced back with the perfect speed and height to create a perpetual loop. 

"Out of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world," he sighed.

Scott shot him a quizzical look from Stiles' bed. "I thought we were talking about Derek and the library."

"I am. It's a reference to Casablanca. You know, when Ilsa walks into Rick's bar and…" Stiles let out a low groan upon seeing Scott's blank stare. "Never mind. It's just that Derek and his gang of douche bros live to torment me."

"I don't think they're that bad."

"That's because you're douche-bro adjacent. I don't mean you're one yourself," Stiles added hurriedly as Scott scowled. "But you're a first-string lacrosse player, plus you're dating someone from the popular crowd, so… you know. That's guilt by association."

The truth was that Scott had been spending less time with Stiles ever since he and Allison Argent had become a Thing™. In fact, Scott's eyes were already glazing over at the mere mention of his girlfriend, until he shook his head and snapped himself out of it. "So, Derek shit-talks you once in a while. It's not like he slams you into lockers or puts your head in the toilet."

Stiles laid the pencil down and turned to Scott slowly. "Because that would be assault. He's not going to do anything to jeopardize his golden boy image."

"Yeah, but… You know you're my best bro, Stiles, but it's not like you don't give it right back to him, too."

Stiles sat back and swiveled back and forth in his chair. He didn't know why he and Derek started their decade-long... well, feud, or whatever it was that was going on between them. They didn't run in the same circles, and they barely shared any classes together. It was just that whenever they were around each other, Stiles couldn't help but push Derek's buttons, and vice versa. For as long as Stiles could remember, the undercurrent of needling Derek to get a rise out of him was too great to ignore.

And perhaps Stiles wouldn't be so eager to press back if Derek didn't have everything handed to him on a silver platter. There was no way Stiles was going to take his shit. Someone had to stand up for the little people.

"He always starts it. I mean, at least half the time. Do you know what he said when he found out I also volunteered on Fridays and Saturdays? 'Oh, someone's got a busy social calendar.' Like he wouldn't have practice on those same days if he was still on the team."

"So prove him wrong."

"What?"

"Show him you have a social life. Don't spend every night online gaming or working on your conspiracy theories."

Stiles held up his hand. "First of all, they're not conspiracy theories but conspiracy facts. Also, you were right there gaming with me until—"

"I know! Lydia's having a party after the first home game. You should go!"

Stiles should be used to it by now. But it still hurt that this was the first time he was hearing about the party. 

He felt his face flush and ducked his head. "Apparently, my invitation got lost in the mail."

Scott sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hair flattened against one side of his head. "You can come with me and Allison," he said. "You know. Since you're best-bro adjacent."

A party at Lydia's meant everyone who was anyone at Beacon Hills High would be invited. Which probably meant Derek would be there, too.

"I'll think about it." It wasn't like Stiles wanted to see the guy, but he'd be down to prove Derek wrong.

*

The sight of the sleek black Camaro occupying his parking spot in front of the library had Stiles gaping. He's had the same spot—next to Satomi's and in the only other non-handicap-designated space closest to the entrance—for the past two years.

Stiles felt the corner of his eye twitch. There was no question who the expensive muscle car belonged to.  

"Compensating much?" he grumbled under his breath. It also happened to be Tuesday afternoon, which meant the library was busier than usual. Stiles ended up finding a space toward the back, by one of the old pine trees that dripped sap onto the hood of whichever car was unfortunate enough to park beneath it. By the time he'd made it into the library, Derek was sitting at the front desk with an innocent smile, which did nothing to help Stiles' already sour mood.

"I thought you were here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays," Stiles groused.

Derek's smile grew bigger. "Aww. You memorized my schedule. I didn't know you cared."

"I don't. I mean," Stiles stuttered as Derek raised a brow, "I only care in the sense that we really don't need two volunteers on the same day. It would be more helpful if our days were staggered."

"But then you'd miss seeing my charming face."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I certainly wouldn't miss your charming wit. Or your charming company."

"I see you didn't argue the point about my face, though." Derek's smug expression slid into something more sober. "They're ramping up my therapy. Doc says I can start doing plyometric exercises; maybe even start running in a couple of weeks. He has me on a Monday, Wednesday, and Friday schedule. I asked Satomi if it would be okay to switch days." He hesitated. "Do you really think that would mess things up?"

Of course, Stiles would have preferred it if they didn't work together at all, but he couldn't find fault with Derek's excuse. 

"Nah. I'm sure Satomi would welcome any extra help," he said begrudgingly.

"Why, Stiles. What a nice thing to say." Derek raised his hand and reached for Stiles' forehead.

Stiles flinched. He narrowly avoided Derek's touch, but he'd practically given himself whiplash in the process. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Checking to see if you have a fever," Derek replied with a grin.

A sharp retort was ready on Stiles' tongue, but he held it back as Mrs. Dansby and her two children entered through the library's doors. "Well, since you're here, maybe you could make yourself useful and grab the box of pretzel packs from the break room." He winced as Derek straightened slowly. "I mean, if it's okay with your leg and everything."

Derek snorted as he stood. "The handouts Harris gives us every day weigh more than a box of pretzels. I've got it."

"I didn't mean to insult your manliness," Stiles said. Still, he couldn't help but smile as Derek flipped him off. He gathered the pile of booklets Satomi had set out for him and fanned them out like a deck of cards on the small table in the reading corner.

"What do you need all these for, anyway?" Derek asked when he returned.

Stiles pointed to the whiteboard behind them. "Pretzels and Paperbacks, every Tuesday at 4:00. We aim to enrich the kiddos' minds while their parents get a much-needed break along with some complimentary apple juice and water." He motioned toward the group of parents speaking with Satomi while several others browsed through the stacks.

Derek cocked his head and scanned the book's cover. "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus?" he asked as he started removing the snack packs.

"Look at you, reading at a first-grade level," Stiles teased. 

Derek looked like he was about to flip him off again but apparently thought better of it as a group of children approached. He chucked a pretzel pack at Stiles instead, then flashed a charming smile, complete with twin dimples and white teeth, at the parents and children who were crowding around them.

"Hey, Lee, my man," Stiles said, holding out the snack pack to one of the boys. "Remember: pretzels are way tastier than a book."

"Hazards of the job?" Derek asked with a chuckle as he handed out several more packs. 

"Know your audience. Sanitation wipes are about to become your best friend. Right, Bella-boo?"

The redhead who had been standing next to Lee peered at Stiles owlishly from behind her glasses. "You have to be careful if you use wipes on books, Stiles. Or the paper can curl." She took a paperback from Derek, then made her way around several large red, circular tables and a group of neon-colored bean bags in the Reading Corner. Eventually, she stopped in front of a tufted green cushion by the 'Myths and Heroes' collection, then carefully spread out the hem of her dress around her as she sat.

"Holy—I mean, wow," Derek said, quickly correcting himself when Stiles cleared his throat. "I think I just time-traveled back ten years and met Lydia Martin all over again."

"Right? Bella's scary smart. She comes to Saturday story time too, which is geared toward fifth- and sixth graders." There was a tug on Stiles' sleeve; when he looked down, a small boy wearing an oversized Superman cape and a cast on his right arm peered back at him. Stiles leaned over and faux whispered into the boy's ear. "Hey, Superman. I'm looking for my friend Kyle. He was supposed to be here today. Have you seen him?"

"It's me, 'Tiles!" Kyle beamed and stood on his tippy toes to give Stiles a high-five with his good hand. "I'm Kyle!"

"No way! You're getting taller every week, dude. It must be all those superpowers. Soon, you're going to be as tall as my friend Derek here."

Kyle stared up at Derek with an awestruck expression. He let out a small eep, his cheeks turning pink as he ran toward Bella and the rest of the kids. 

Stiles chuckled under his breath.

"Friend?" Derek asked once Kyle took his seat, oblivious to the fact that he'd just gained a fan. 

"Kyle is five. I didn't think he'd know the word 'frenemy'."

"We're not—" Derek ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "You're really great with the kids, you know."

Stiles held his breath. He waited for a comeback, something like 'because it takes one to know one,' but one never came.

"Thanks," he said, pushing back at the lump in his throat.

It may have been said casually, but Derek couldn't know how much the words meant. Stiles took his spot in front of the group, taking care to put a little extra comedic effort into the pigeon's pleas until the kids were howling with laughter, and even Derek had joined in.

*

Me: need you for the raid we're down a tank

Stiles' patience thinned as the message was left on read for what seemed like forever.

Me: come on dude. I can't hold them off much longer

Brother from another mother: im sorry something came up

Stiles jammed his finger against the call button. "You promised you'd play!" he shouted before Scott could get a word out.

"I know, but… I'm so sorry, Stiles. Isaac's throwing a party, and Allison really wants to go."

"And you didn't think to tell me until now? It's 10:15. I've been waiting for you for over an hour like a total loser, while…Wait. Is that…?" Stiles pressed the volume button on his speaker. Yep, there was definitely music thumping and what sounded like drunken laughter in the background. "Are you actually at the party already?"

"I meant to call you when I got here, but then Allison and I got pulled into this game with Lydia and Jackson, and…"

Stiles took a deep breath as Scott droned on. It was the last free weekend before Scott's schedule was going to be filled with lacrosse activities and his shifts at the vet clinic, and they had planned on gaming all night. But that had obviously fallen to the bottom of Scott's to-do list, and he was partying it up with the cool crowd again.

"Yeah, well, sounds like a blast. Thanks for the invite."

"Wait, seriously? You never want to go!"

Stiles sighed; he didn't want to hear any more of Scott's excuses, and he certainly didn't want to hear everyone having a great time in the background. "Look, we're going to start this raid, so I'm gonna bail."

It didn't help his already sour mood to discover that by the time he ended the call, the original raid party had disbanded, and he had to find another.

*

The delicious smell of coffee—smokey, a bit spicy, and sugary sweet—wafted past Stiles' nose.

He tried not to get his hopes up when he saw three cups nestled inside the brown cardboard carrier as Derek handed one to Satomi. It wasn't the all-nighter he'd originally planned with Scott, but he'd been up until almost four.

"Here you go, Ms. Ito," Derek said, way too cheerily for a Saturday morning. "Almond milk latte with two sugars, right?"

"It's perfect, Derek. Thank you," Satomi responded, her eyes twinkling.

Derek hesitated, then handed one of the remaining cups to Stiles. "I kind of took a guess on yours. I mean, I didn't have your number or anything, so I couldn't text you when I ordered."

"You're talking to someone who will drink the sludge from the bottom of the coffee pot at 2AM. I'm sure it's great." Stiles pulled back the tab on the lid and took a tentative sip. The sweetness of vanilla and coffee mellowed with a hint of cream washed across his tongue. "Oh my god," he moaned. "It's perfect."

"I mean, I could get you leftover sludge for the next round," Derek teased as he took a seat.

"Or Stiles could give you his number. So you can ask him directly," Satomi suggested.

Stiles took another long sip of his drink, then held up his cup. "Nah, man, I'll be the happiest guy in the world if you keep plying me with these."

"The two of you should exchange numbers anyway," Satomi persisted. "It will be nice having an extra helping hand for Fall Fest."

Derek wrapped his hands around his cup. They were huge; his fingers practically doubled up over themselves while circling the container. Stiles guessed it wasn't totally unexpected since Derek was a quarterback and all. "What's Fall Fest?" Derek asked, bringing his cup to his mouth.

Now that Stiles's belly was full and warm and caffeinated, he didn't feel like antagonizing Derek further. It was kind of nice, just hanging out like regular co-workers. 

"We change up the decorations for the library every season. Usually it's just indoor stuff, but fall is the one we go all out on," he explained. "We do outdoor displays and everything."

"What's so special about fall?"

"Because it's the best? Like, there's football for people like you. But it's also the time for layering: beanies and hoodies and flannel—"

Derek gave Stiles' outfit a pointed look. "Sort of like what you wear year-round?"

"Cinnamon, apples, and pumpkin spice—"

"Flavors that'll be sold in coffee shops and bakeries well into winter."

"And Halloween!" Stiles said, slamming down his now near-empty cup. Seriously, what was wrong with Derek?

"Okay, I'll give you Halloween." The corners of Derek's lips quirked upward, and he eventually busted out with a laugh. "I'm just playing with you. I love the fall, man. Football, like you said. And I love going running when there's that layer of frost on the ground and you can just smell the cold in the air. I've seen the library's displays before; they're cool." He placed his cup on the table as well, albeit much more gently than Stiles had, then leaned back in his chair. "I'm in. I love this kind of stuff. How can I help?"

Satomi's eyes darted between Stiles and Derek. "I appreciate the enthusiasm from both of you, but before you get any wild ideas, please remember we're a public library with a limited budget."

Derek scrunched up his forehead. "How much is 'limited'?"

"Around two hundred dollars," Stiles said with a sigh. "Which is why the displays kind of look the same year after year, although I think Turnip Head is on his last legs."

"Turnip Head? Like the scarecrow from Howl's Moving Castle?"

Stiles' mouth fell open. He couldn't believe Derek got the reference. "Yeah," he said once he got over his shock. "Although he didn't always use to be Turnip Head. He was a regular scarecrow until the straw in his head fell out. Satomi covered the patch with the stove top hat and pipe from our snowman display, and it kind of stuck."

"We try to reference stories in our displays," Satomi added. "It keeps the kids engaged, especially when things like social media seem to take up more and more of their attention. Speaking of which, I'm going to get things ready for you, Stiles," she said, standing up.

"Story Time Saturdays with Stiles," Stiles said in response to the obvious question on Derek's lips once Satomi left. "Or, if I'm not here to run it, Story Time Saturdays with Satomi. It's the session for older kids, although you'll probably see a couple of precocious ones like Bella here, too."

"Does your name have to start with an 'S' to read for story time, or is it open to anyone?"

Stiles was about to tell Derek that it was a very select club. But Derek actually looked—well, not only interested, but hopeful. Suddenly, Stiles remembered how much his mother had looked forward to reading to the group when he was younger.

"No alliteration needed," he said, his voice suddenly rough. "My mom—her name was Claudia—used to work here, and she was the best storyteller ever." Stiles closed his eyes briefly, and at that moment, he was transported back, to a time years ago when his mom would make sure his days were filled when his dad was working long and odd hours as a new deputy. "I was always fidgeting," he said eventually as he opened his eyes, "and there were other kids who had a hard time focusing like me. So she created Shake, Rattle, and Read. She loved using movement and role-playing as part of her stories."

"Do you think Satomi would let me do something like that? I help the Pee Wee football league with snap and pass-pod drills. I could definitely get kids that age moving."

Maybe Stiles had it wrong. As popular as Derek was, an undeniable alpha on top of the high school social chain, he seemed to be more than just a muscle-bound jock. He hadn't missed any volunteer days (though it had only been a week), was thoughtful enough to bring in coffees for everyone, and seemed genuinely eager to help.

"I think she'd love it, actually. We'll have to come up with your catchphrase, though. Maybe something like… Story Time Adventures with Derek?"

Derek's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That's super cool. I love it."

"Well, you know. Some people need all the help they can get."

Stiles twisted in his seat as Derek punched him in the shoulder good-naturedly and tried not to smile.

*

The sound of a backpack landing heavily on the table caused Stiles to start.

"Hey," Scott said as he slid into the empty chair next to Stiles. His eyes were already doing that sad, puppy-dog thing, and Stiles braced himself for what was coming next. "I'm really sorry about last Friday, dude." Scott hesitated, then barreled forward when Stiles just shrugged. "I mean, the party wasn't even that much fun. You probably would've hated it. And you ended up doing what you wanted to anyway, right?"

What Stiles had really wanted to do was to spend some non-Allison time with his friend. But by this point, it was like being alone in his room and beating his head against the wall. Scott wasn't going to hear it, and Stiles would only end up hurting himself. 

"Yeah. The Proud Moon Guild is trying to recruit me, by the way. They want a couple more DPS and they raid on Wednesdays and Fridays, so…" There wasn't any actual way Stiles was going to switch guilds because, unlike some other people, he was fucking loyal. Not that Scott had to know that.

"But…" Scott looked up as Mr. Harris entered the room. As usual, their teacher's beady eyes seemed to zero in on Stiles. Scott scooched back into his seat and started removing his notebook from his bag. "Look, I know I haven't been around lately, but we'll raid this Friday, I promise. Deal?" 

He held up his hand for a fist bump. Stiles was seriously thinking about leaving him hanging, at least for a little bit. It wasn't as if Scott and Allison were a completely new thing, after all. They'd been going out since last spring—for six months, officially, although Scott had insisted he was hers since she first walked into his life almost thirteen months ago when, on the first day of junior high, Scott had leant her a pen. 

Apparently, people like Allison Argent found true love by doing nothing more than forgetting a school essential. Scott had girlfriends before Allison, too, although he'd say they didn't count. In fact, pretty much everyone Stiles knew, including Greenberg—who sat on the rung below Stiles on the social ladder, if that was even possible—had at least one significant other somewhere in their past.

Everyone except Stiles, that is. At seventeen, he'd never had a partner (and no, his right hand didn't count). And until recently, he'd consider Scott his platonic ride-or-die, but now the longest lasting and most constant relationship he'd ever had was the antagonistic one he's had with Derek Hale, which dated back to elementary school, before Scott had even moved to Beacon Hills.

As if pulled from his thoughts, a bunch of football players filed into the classroom, less than a minute before the bell. Each one was big and brawny and beautiful, and they took up so much space with their chatter and charisma that even Harris was cowed. Derek was at the forefront of the group, and when he passed by Stiles' desk, his mouth angled into a smirk as he threw Stiles a nod with a tilt of his chin. 

"Hey. We're still good for Thursday, right?" he asked, rapping his knuckles against the corner of Stiles' table as he continued toward the back of the classroom without missing a beat.

Stiles felt his face burn as everyone's eyes seemed to focus on him. Even Scott was gaping.

"What the fuck, Hale? Why were you talking to Bilinski?" Jackson Whittemore blurted out as the rest of the football players took their seats.

Luckily, Harris had turned around and was now writing on the blackboard. "It's work stuff," Stiles said cryptically to Scott as he slid lower in his seat. He took his phone out from under his papers, pulled up the number Derek had entered last weekend, and shot him a quick text followed by two pumpkin emojis.

Me: Game on.

*

"Hell yeah," Stiles crowed as he wrestled another corn stalk around the branches he'd shaped like the legs of Howl's castle. Last Saturday, Derek had stupidly declared that he could design a better Fall Fest display than Stiles, which led to their bet. "I'm so going to win this thing."

Derek looked up from where he was seated on the grass and squinted. "I don't see it."

"You've got to use your imagination." Stiles also planned to build Calcifer's furnace using leaves from the preserve once they'd turn a brilliant red, but he wasn't about to divulge all his secrets at once. "It's going to be epic once it's done."

"I mean, it's okay if you don't mind recycled ideas."

Stiles glanced at the clothing stuffed with straw on the ground next to Derek.

"Oh, sure," he said, rolling his eyes. "A cheerleader and a football player. That's so much more original."

"Maybe you should take some of your own advice and use your imagination."

Stiles tilted his head. A Beacon Hills High cheerleading sweater and pleated skirt covered one of the wooden scarecrow frames. He looked again at the jersey Derek was currently stuffing with straw and dried leaves and shook his head.

"Nope. Just as unoriginal as I'd thought."

Derek secured a pair of gridiron britches to the wooden stake with some twine. "How come you never go to any of the football games?" he asked.

Stiles' head snapped up in shock. Hundreds of people attended football games at the high school; last year, when the Cyclones made it to the state semi-finals, the number had tipped close to a thousand. It would be hard to pick out anyone in the crowd.

"I'm not much of a sports guy."

"You were a great pitcher in middle school."

Stiles felt his cheeks heat—partly from his sorrow over giving up something he'd once loved, and partly from his disbelief that it was yet another thing Derek had noticed. 

"I love baseball," he admitted. "But then my mom got sick, and after that…" He closed his eyes. After his mother had passed, his father was a shell of himself, and suddenly attending baseball practice and traveling to away games seemed trivial in comparison. Stiles opened his eyes and blinked away the sting of tears as he busied himself with decorating another castle leg. "I guess I'm just not much of a football guy, then."

"You should come to our first home game on Saturday. It'll be fun."

It sounded like an invitation. But it couldn't be, because Derek would be busy with his own friends, and the last thing Stiles wanted to do was to third-wheel it again at the Scott-and-Allison show.

"I don't want to leave Satomi hanging this weekend. But, uh, I might go to Lydia's party afterward."

"Yeah?" Derek seemed to perk up; his eyes crinkled faintly at the corners. "That'd be really cool." The late afternoon sun turned the irises of his eyes a pale green, like the color of well-worn beach glass, and the thick curtain of his eyelashes nearly brushed the tops of his cheeks when he blinked. He looked so soft and undeniably beautiful at that moment, and Stiles startled when he realized he was staring.

"We never laid down the ground rules for the bet," Stiles said, dragging both his eyes and his thoughts away from dangerous territory. "Or what my prize will be when I win."

Derek laughed as he secured the last knot. "Says you."

"With just cause." Stiles threw him a cocky grin. Just because they were getting along better didn't mean he was going to make things easy for Derek. "So, back to the ground rules. Rule number one: we're only allowed to spend what Satomi gave us." They had split the $200 allowance before driving an hour north to Chico after school. Derek had some distant cousins who owned a farm there and had let the two of them get anything they wanted at cost. They came back with a treasure trove of things, and Stiles still had like eighteen dollars left over.

Derek pointed to Turnip Head. "Fine, but then I get to use things I might have lying around, too."

The Hales lived in a freaking mansion in the preserve, and there were probably tons of things lying around that Derek could use. Their holiday decorations were a Beacon Hills highlight: a haunted mansion for Halloween, complete with fog machines, spooky soundtracks, and ghostly projections; and a working ice rink and horse-drawn sleigh for Christmas. It would be nearly impossible to compete with Derek when he had the equivalent of a small country's GDP-worth of materials at his disposal.

But Stiles hated the idea of losing Turnip Head. Plus, he could be resourceful, too.

"Fine," he conceded. "As long as it's within reason. And for the next rule, the displays have to be based on a story." He took another look at Derek's scarecrows and grinned. "I'd hate for you to lose on a technicality."

"Oh, don't worry, I know," Derek smirked right back. He stood, his right hand massaging the top of his knee as he winced. "First day without the brace," he explained in response to Stiles' questioning look.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Guilt flooded through Stiles when he thought about all the work they'd done. "We hauled stuff from your cousin's farm all afternoon!"

"Doc says it's normal to feel a little stiff at this stage. I'm okay."

"If you say so…"

Derek waved him off. "So what did you decide you want if you win, anyway?"

"When I win, you mean," Stiles said, his concern over Derek's knee replaced by the prospect of winning their bet. "I'm going to really enjoy driving your Camaro for a day around town," he grinned, knowing the car was Derek's pride and joy. 

"That's—" Derek looked like he wanted to protest further, but he clamped his mouth shut. "I haven't thought of mine yet, but I'll let you know when I do."

"Whatever, dude. As long as it doesn't involve any bodily harm or lifelong emotional scars, I'm in."

It didn't matter what he came up with, anyway. Given Derek's pitiful display, Fall Fest was Stiles' bet to lose.

*

As it turned out, Beacon Hills won their home opener against their biggest divisional rivals. While Stiles couldn't care less from a school spirit point of view, it meant the players were getting their happy on instead of finding outlets for their anger at Lydia's party. He hadn't seen Derek yet—not that Stiles was purposefully looking, of course. The dude was probably being swarmed by a bunch of testosterone-fueled, high-fiving, drunken future frat bros.

Not all the guests were douche nozzles, though. After what seemed like weeks, Stiles was finally hanging out with Scott, who'd introduced him to Liam and Mason, a couple of midfielders on the lacrosse team. Lydia's parents were away, which meant the booze was free-flowing, plus Mason had some primo-quality weed that he'd been happy to share. Several hours later, Stiles had developed a nice buzz, the kind that dulled the excess noise and his underlying anxiety while paradoxically intensifying his other senses. Or maybe the ganja just opened up his chakras, or whatever it was that Mason had said. 

Laying down on the grass, away from the house and close to the woods that bordered the Martin property, Stiles stared up at the night sky. It wasn't late enough for the surrounding foliage to have turned into a riot of bright yellows and crimson, but their growing fragility made itself known by the rustling noises they made as the night breeze blew through them. It was a welcome change from the drunken shouts and pounding bass that filtered down the hill.  

He closed his eyes and breathed in the air, its earthy, loamy scent seeping through the lingering sweet and musky smoke. By now, Allison had pulled Scott back toward the main house—having reached the limit of her charitable contribution to Stiles' social status—while Liam and Mason had left to… Well. Stiles couldn't be totally sure why they left, but he didn't think he'd been imagining things when Liam kept scooting closer to Mason as the night wore on, until they were practically in each other's laps.

The realization of which was enough to be a bit of a buzzkill. It wasn't just that Stiles was alone; he was alone alone. And yeah, he might not need a romantic relationship to define his self-worth, but it still kind of sucked when it seemed like everyone he cared about had no problems moving on.

"Shit," he muttered, then blew out a breath. He was a cop's kid; there was no way he was stupid enough to drive home while drunk and stoned, but being at Lydia's party now officially sucked. Maybe if he had more self-deprecating thoughts, it would help him sober up more quickly.

"Hey. Is this a private party, or can I join you?"

Stiles' eyes flew open. It took a second or two to make out Derek's silhouette, with his face well-hidden in the shadows and hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

Stiles magnanimously swept his hand across the space surrounding him. "It was a party for five that became a private party of one. But I guess I could make an exception."

Derek snorted softly. "I feel honored." He stepped closer to Stiles, then took a seat in the grass. Stiles noticed that Derek kept his right leg straight.

"Knee's still bothering you?"

"Not really. Just babying it, I guess."

Stiles patted the patch of grass on his other side. "You should lay down, dude. You can't believe how big everything looks from down here."

Derek let out a surprised laugh. "Just how much have you had to drink?" he teased, even as he caved to Stiles' request.

"Too much, probably. Also, props to Mason; his brother owns a dispensary, and he hooked us up." Stiles turned onto his side, suddenly mournful. "I'm sorry. I would've saved some for you if I knew you were coming, but…"

Whatever else he was going to say fled his brain as Stiles' mouth went dry. Turning had put him face to face with Derek. The color of Derek's eyes against the fairy lights reminded Stiles of lake water right before the morning light hits its surface: a fathomless, mercurial greenish blue. And god, Derek had a pretty smile, too, with a mouth that could be considered cruelly sensual if not for the two adorable bunny teeth that peeked out in front.

Too late, Stiles realized he was staring. Not only that, but Derek also appeared to be waiting for his response.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Thankfully, Derek just looked amused. "I said I tried pot once but didn't like the way it made me feel."

"Oh, man. Maybe you got a bad batch."

"Eh. I'm all for trying things once, but there's no point in doing it again if you're not getting anything out of it, you know? Like, I don't need to chase that kind of high when I get it from playing sports. Although it kind of sucks that I don't have that right now."

"Was it hard? Being at the game and not being able to play?"

"I can still cheer on my teammates if I'm not on the field. And I'm helping out with the car wash fundraiser for Spirit Week." Derek paused, then let out a hollow chuckle. "But yeah, it sucked not being able to play. Just gotta keep focused. Keep up with my rehab. Eyes on the prize and all that."

"I'm sure you being there meant a lot to them, though. Seriously," Stiles added when Derek grunted his dissent. "You're the kind of person who… Well, everyone likes you."

"Except you." Derek gave Stiles an all-knowing look. "You were always giving me shit. You always have. For years."

"But I wouldn't have if…" The thing is, Stiles wasn't the kind of person who would purposefully pick on someone first. He tried to think back to when it all started. Shit, he wished he wasn't so buzzed. "I'm pretty sure you started everything when you 'traded' my fruit snacks for your carrot sticks in second grade. You stole my seat next to Lydia in fourth grade. And then you gave me shit about my No-Face phone case in middle school, and—Wait. How could you know about Turnip-Head and not No-Face?"

Derek's gaze dropped as he started pulling several blades of grass from the ground. "I didn't mean to give you shit at first." 

"You called it a rip-off of the Scream mask! That's sacrilege!"

"I was talking and you weren't paying any attention!" 

Stiles stared at Derek as Derek let out a low groan. "Wow," Stiles eventually said once he could pick up his jaw from his chest. "Do you know how asinine that sounds?"

"You never paid me any attention. And yeah, I saw Spirited Away, and I knew you were into anime and comics. So I thought if I gave you shit about it, you'd at least notice me."

"I'm just… this is blowing my mind, dude," Stiles said, shaking his head. "You're Derek Hale. There's not a single person in the school who doesn't notice you when you're around. And giving me shit about No-Face was probably the worst thing you could have done to thirteen-year-old me."

Derek lifted his eyes to Stiles, and to Stiles' surprise, he looked gutted. "What do you mean?"

"No-Face was a lonely and abandoned Spirit. I mean, I can't tell you how much I related to him at that age. But he was also a warning, because I didn't want to become someone I wasn't—to pretend to be someone else—just because I was lonely."

Derek shifted and pushed himself slightly onto his elbow. "See? You're so smart. If I didn't give you shit, we'd have nothing to talk about."

"You are smart, though. I mean, we're in AP history together."

"And I'm barely passing it. I'm not smart like you."

"Well, I can't argue with you there," Stiles smirked. It wasn't a secret that he and Lydia Martin were neck-and-neck for class valedictorian. "But you're smart in other ways I'm not. Like how you can relate to practically anyone you meet and get them to like you."

Derek gave Stiles a wry grin. "Again. Except for you."

"I didn't…" 

Dislike you, Stiles was about to say. Except that wasn't true. Or, at least, it wasn't really true anymore. Because now that he'd had the chance to know Derek a little better, he realized that, in addition to being Mr. Cool and Popular, Derek was a pretty good guy, too. 

"You shouldn't worry too much about what I think, anyway. No one else does," he said in the end.

Derek pushed at Stiles' shoulder. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

"It is what it is." Stiles gestured up and down his body. "I know, it's shocking there isn't a line of people waiting to get all up in this, but I'm totally Single Pringle. Whereas you…" Stiles scrunched up his face as he tried to think of his next words. "How many people have you hooked up with, anyway?" He felt his face flame as Derek arched a brow. God, he shouldn't be talking about these things when he was high; he had a hard enough time with his brain-to-mouth filter when he was sober. 

"Define 'hooked up.'"

"I don't know… kissing with tongue or more. Oh my god," Stiles said when Derek ticked through all his fingers, then started over again. "That many? Did you start when you were ten?"

Derek shrugged. "Erica gave me my first kiss in fifth grade."

Blonde, beautiful, and with-curves-for-days Erica, who was now dating one of Derek's best friends. "I said with tongue." Stiles rolled his eyes when Derek just smirked. "Jesus. I hooked up once. And that was when Danny and I had to kiss each other for Truth or Dare."

"Well, I've never kissed a guy before, so you got me beat there." 

Stiles huffed out a quiet laugh. "Pretty sure that's one record I'll be winning forever."

Derek's brows drew down. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Since when is Beacon Hills' star quarterback into dudes?"

"I'm not opposed to the idea." Derek's face seemed to turn pink even in the limited light. "I mean, there's no harm in trying things once, right? Checking it off the list?"

"No, that's a terrible idea! Please don't go for the other half of the population. You need to give the rest of us mortals a chance."

Derek huffed out a laugh. "Well, you could always help. Take one for the team."

Derek couldn't mean… "I'm sorry," Stiles said, pulling back so he could watch Derek's expression carefully. "What do you mean?"

"Truth or Dare, Stiles. Do you want to be my first?"

All the things that seemed so vivid at first—the scratchy blades of grass pressing against the strip of skin along Stiles' neck, the sweet smoke that still clung to his clothes, and the raucous laughter and booming music from the main house—faded as Derek's words roared in Stiles' ears. 

"You're serious," he realized once Derek's bravado faltered after the silence had dragged on between them.

"Forget it. I'm sorry I said anything—"

"Hold on. I didn't say 'no.' Just… give me a moment to process everything. I mean, five minutes ago, I was still under the impression you hated my guts."

Stiles bit his lower lip as he wrestled with the flutter of hope and excitement in his belly. Anyone with eyes could see that the guy was objectively attractive. And he could admit that Derek was actually an okay dude, and the fact that he'd want to dive into bicurious waters with someone like Stiles…

"Okay," he said, feeling suddenly shy. "I mean, it's a hardship and all. But someone's gotta take one for the team, right?"

"Right," Derek said, his lips quirking up into a soft smile. He leaned forward with the confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times. But as Stiles stared into eyes that seemed as bottomless as a stormy sea, Derek's expression softened. "Hey," he murmured, using his thumb and forefinger to cup Stiles' chin gently before brushing Stiles' lips with his mouth.

Oh, Stiles thought as his hand reached around the back of Derek's neck, pulling him closer. A pleased rumble emanated from Derek's chest, and the way his stubble rubbed against the smoothness of Stiles' cheek as their kiss deepened made Stiles groan. Desire ignited a fire in Stiles' belly, but there was also a tenderness to Derek's touch; a near-reverence that nearly made Stiles whine once they finally pulled apart.

Stiles placed his fingers against his lips. "How was that?" he croaked.

"I think once wasn't enough for me to formulate an accurate opinion," Derek said, grinning as he brought his hand to the back of Stiles' waist and reeled him back in.

*

By the time Monday rolled around, it was as if nothing had ever happened. At school, Derek greeted Stiles with a little up-nod in class while Stiles gave him a half-smile and stared pathetically, but otherwise they stuck to their separate sides of the classroom. Even Scott hadn't noticed anything new, although that was, admittedly, a low bar.

The time they spent together in the library, though, was completely different. 

"Hey, Stiles," Derek said on Tuesday as he held up a book. "Do you know where Evicted goes?" 

"Yeah. Contemporary historical non-fiction." He rolled his eyes when Derek gave him a blank stare, although he could understand; historical non-fiction wasn't exactly one of their super popular sections. He marched over to the row of books tucked away in the back. "It's over here, next to—"

The yelp he let out as he was pushed against the stacks quickly turned into a groan when Derek kissed him silly.

"Oh, wow," Stiles said, once he could get his bearings. "I've never… I mean, kissing behind the stacks was on my bucket list of things to do before graduation, but I never thought that…"

"Glad we could check something off both our lists," Derek said, smiling softly.

And on Thursday, Derek brought in two fresh slices of his mother's award-winning apple pie, with its overfilled stuffing spilling over a perfectly golden, latticed crust and the smell of brown sugar and cinnamon and piping-hot apple goodness. He removed the tin foil cover, then quietly handed Stiles the larger piece before demolishing his own.

"That was a bribe, by the way," Derek said as they crumpled up their paper plates to toss in the trash. "The football and cheerleading teams are hosting a car wash to raise money next Sunday."

Stiles rubbed his now-full belly. "I'm pretty sure bribes are more effective if you hold the goods hostage until after the deed. But I'll give it some consideration."

"I'll make you park under the pine trees every day this week so that you have to go," Derek threatened, but the grin he threw at Stiles was like sunshine. 

Saturday fell in the middle of a mini heat wave, with temperatures more summerlike than fall, making the library's outdoor display seem like an anomaly. 

"Maybe we should put boarding shorts and a bikini on them instead," Stiles muttered as Derek placed a hollowed-out pumpkin carved with a scary jack-o'-lantern face near the Headless Horseman-turned-quarterback's hand. 

A blur of blue and red streaked into Stiles' peripheral vision.

"Derek?" Kyle asked, bypassing Stiles completely. He tugged on Derek's sleeve as a harried woman on her cell phone jogged half-heartedly to reach them. "Why is your scarecrow dressed like a football player?"

Derek bent down. Even when he squatted, his huge body managed to loom over Kyle's. "Well, football is played in the fall, and I thought it'd be kind of fun."

"Do you like football?"

"I love it. Do you?"

Kyle scrunched up his nose. "I don't know. I love baseball, but…" He held up his cast, then glanced at the older woman uncertainly. "Nana said I can't play."

Kyle's grandmother placed the phone in one of her overstuffed bags, looking as frazzled as the state of her hair, and took a deep breath. "You can't play because your arm is broken, Kyle."

Understanding flashed across Derek's face. "Ah. Well, your nana is right. You can't play right now, but that doesn't mean you can't play later when you're feeling better. You want to know a secret?" Derek leaned in conspiratorially as Kyle nodded. "I hurt my knee pretty badly this summer. I didn't have a cast, but I wore a brace until last week. But I healed up faster than they thought, and now Coach says I can start doing drills. In fact, there's a good chance I'll be back on the team before the season's over. And if I can do it, you can, too. Right, Superman?"

Kyle beamed. And Stiles probably would have been more impressed with how Derek had remembered that Kyle was a Superman fan, or how he'd relieved Kyle's uncertainty so easily, if he hadn't become stuck on the fact that Derek said he'd be back on the team. And it shouldn't have been a surprise; Derek was the embodiment of Beacon Hills sports, and the library was always just a placeholder. But the kids had already formed an attachment to Derek, while Stiles—

"That's sad," someone piped up. Stiles whipped around, mortified that he'd voiced all his spiraling thoughts out loud, only to realize Bella was not looking at him but at Derek's scarecrow.

"Uh. Don't you mean it's scary?" Derek asked, stepping back to appraise his own handiwork.

"That's supposed to be the Headless Horseman, right?" Bella shook her head when Derek agreed. "It's sad."

"Bella, do you mean the story's sad?" Stiles guessed.

"Yes. The Horseman is mean."

"But that's why he's scary," Derek persisted.

"I think what Bella's trying to say is that it's a sad story. Ichabod Crane was courting Katrina, a wealthy farmer's daughter. Katrina was also being courted by the town's bully, a man by the name of Brom. She turned Ichabod down, and then Brom dressed up as the Headless Horseman to frighten him out of town. In the end, Katrina accepted Brom's suit."

"Oh," Derek said, his voice deflated.

"I mean, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is definitely a Halloween classic," Stiles offered. "That's just one interpretation."

Kyle glared at Stiles. "Well, I like Derek's scarecrow. I think it's the coolest one here."

Stiles clasped his hand to his heart. "Et tu, Kyle?"

Derek looked slightly mollified. "I knew I liked you, kid," he said, ruffling Kyle's hair.

*

Scott and Stiles walked past the enormous homecoming sign that was draped over the cafeteria's entrance the following week.

"So, I'm asking Allison to the dance," Scott said.

Stiles stifled a yawn. "Shocker."

"Don't be a dick. I just have to figure out how to ask her."

Stiles stopped in his tracks and turned. "Aren't big gestures more of a prom thing?" he asked as a group of girls from the track team pushed past him. "This is a post-game dance in the school cafeteria, dude. The same place where fights break out over the last pudding cups."

"But it's Allison," Scott began, once again reminding Stiles just how far his best friend was gone. Stiles rolled his eyes before resuming their trek to second period English. "I was hoping to do something after the lacrosse game tomorrow, and you've got the best ideas."

"The game I won't be at because I have to work, by the way. Maybe just make her a sign that says, 'Do you want to Chill-lax at Homecoming with me?'" It certainly wasn't Stiles' best effort, but Scott seemed to love it, anyway.

"See? That's why I always ask you." He nudged Stiles' shoulder as Stiles grumbled. "You should go to the dance, too."

"That's a negative. There's no way I'm going to hang out in the corner of the cafeteria by the chaperones and the punch bowl."

"Why don't you ask Danny? I bet he'd say yes."

"Danny's with Ethan." For the past two months.

"Well… What about Lydia?"

Stiles let out a snort. "I think she and Jackson are on-again. Besides, that ship has sailed. And even if I still liked her, I'd have a better chance of…" 

Of Derek Hale saying yes, Stiles almost said, but thankfully, this was one time when his brain was quicker than his mouth. There was no question Derek would be going; the only question was which cheerleader would be hanging off his arm.

"A chance is still a chance. It's senior year. Ask someone you like. What's the worst that can happen?"

Stiles didn't bother answering. He's had a long history of putting himself out there, but it always ended the same way: with egg all over his face.

*

Scott probably didn't need the huge sign and a massive bouquet of white and red roses to win Allison's favor, but the proposal was a certifiable hit. Liam filmed the whole thing, and Scott and Allison looked so happy in the video that the romantic gesture softened even Stiles' cynical heart. 

The thing was, despite his protests to Scott to the contrary, there was still a small part of Stiles that adored sweet and thoughtful gestures. It was the part of him that had made him spend hours gluing the perfect macaroni heart to red construction paper for his mother when he was five, and the one that had thought spending three-years' worth of lawn-cutting wages to buy Lydia Martin a television for her birthday made perfect sense. It was why, after he'd found himself stuck in traffic late Sunday morning, stunned by the line of cars trying to make the turn into the school grounds, his frustration at the delay faded once he realized it felt like some sort of a sign.

"Oh man," Scott said as he fiddled with the radio. He sat back as the melody of 'My Body' by Young the Giant came over the speakers. "You should have taken Boyden instead of Carpenter. We could have avoided this whole mess."

"I forgot about the car wash," Stiles admitted. It's a sign, his traitorous heart proclaimed as he looked out the Jeep's dusty windshield. To add insult to injury, there was a splash of pine sap right in the middle, just out of the windshield wipers' reach. "I might as well get Roscoe clean. Since we're here anyway."

Scott frowned. "I have to get to Deaton's by 11:30."

"It's not even 11, dude. We'll get there in time."

"I think I'd get there faster if I just walked at this point," Scott grumbled. But he sat back against his seat and pumped up the volume of the song even higher, humming along with the chorus.

Maybe it was the loud music that infiltrated Stiles' brain and pushed out any rational thought.

"I think I might ask someone to homecoming, after all," he blurted out as he focused his attention on the line of scantily clad cheerleaders and even more scantily clad football players patrolling the queue. It wasn't even noon, but the temperature outside was reaching ninety, and most of the guys were dressed like they were ready for a day at the beach. Even so, it wasn't difficult to pick out Derek among the half-naked, ripped and glistening bodies. 

At six-feet tall, he wasn't the tallest of the group. Nor was he the only one with a thick mane of jet-black, movie-star-worthy hair. It wasn't even his washboard abs, or the V-line showcased by the bright red boardshorts clinging tantalizingly low on his hips. It was the way his face lit up when he laughed, his confidence and joy drawing everyone to him as much as his toothpaste-commercial-ready grin.

"Hey!" A hand flew in front of Stiles' face, ruining his perfect view. "Earth to Stiles! Who are you asking to homecoming?" Scott frowned as he tracked the direction of Stiles' gaze. "Wait, you're not… Dude, you're not seriously thinking of asking Derek Hale?"

Stiles's grip on the gear shift tightened as the line of cars moved up several feet. "It's not fucking impossible."

"I thought you hated the dude. And I don't even think Derek's interested in guys."

There was no way Stiles was going to out Derek, even if Scott thought he was delusional. "He's not half-bad. And I thought, since we've been hanging out at work and everything, and I don't think he's going with anyone, that maybe—"

"Ah, dude? Derek might not be going with anyone yet, but it looks like there's someone who's definitely interested."

Stiles whipped his head back toward the front of the line, just in time to see Paige Krasikeva snuggle her bikini-clad top against Derek's body. Jealousy clawed at Stiles' skin, but it was nothing compared to the sickening feeling that flooded his belly when Derek wrapped an arm around Paige's waist and kissed the top of her head.

Stiles tried to block the image of Paige giggling and pressing closer to Derek as he threw the car in reverse. "You're right. We're not going to make it to Deaton's in time if we stay," he said, swallowing the bilious taste in his mouth as he made a screeching U-turn while several cars honked at him angrily.

*

Stiles spent the next several days trying to avoid Derek as much as possible.  He ate lunch by the bleachers, avoided the areas where the jocks hung out on his way to class, and faked a stomachache to get out of both Harris' class and volunteering at the library on Tuesday. He felt bad for leaving Satomi in the lurch, especially since Saturday was the official unveiling of the fall display. But it wasn't a total lie since the thought of seeing Derek Hale really made him want to throw up.

It was Wednesday when Derek eventually cornered him in the high school library. Stiles had already sensed his presence before Scott looked up, his best friend's eyes widening as he tugged on Stiles' sleeve.

"Hey, uh…" Derek's eyes darted between Scott and Stiles. His lips thinned when Scott didn't move his hand. "I missed you at the car wash this weekend."

"I'm sure there were plenty of other people to keep you company."

Derek rubbed the back of his neck as his face flushed. "Are you feeling better? I heard you were sick."

"It comes and it goes. Like right now? I feel like throwing up."

"Look, can we talk? Alone?" Derek pleaded as Scott's jaw dropped. "I wanted to see if… To ask you if…"

"Wow. The great Derek Hale's at a loss for words," Stiles muttered, loud enough for Derek to hear.

"Are you mad at me, Stiles?" The flush on Derek's cheeks deepened when Stiles hit him with an ice-cold stare. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, Derek. You didn't do anything except be you." Stiles wriggled his wrist out from under Scott's hand and shoved his books into his backpack. He'd been so stupid to think that what they'd shared meant anything to Derek; after all, Stiles was just another kiss in a long history of forgettable conquests. "Like you said, there's nothing wrong with trying things out once. I just took one for the team," he choked out, his voice cracking.

"Stiles, no—" Derek began, but Stiles wasn't sticking around for whatever he was selling. There was no denying what he'd seen, and he was going to get out of here as fast as he could, before what little remained of his dignity was shredded into pieces.

*

The next few days provided a respite for Stiles. It was apparently Derek's turn to take a page out of the avoidance playbook, because he didn't show up at the library Thursday afternoon—he had a meeting with the football coach, according to Satomi. And Scott was being ultra supportive, too; he stopped hounding Stiles about homecoming, showed up to their CoD meetup, and brought along Allison, Liam, and Mason to eat lunch with Stiles, although he remained strangely non-committal during Stiles' episodes of Derek-bashing. 

But respites, by definition, come to an end. There was no way Stiles could bail out on the Saturday unveiling of the fall display. Unlike Derek, whose Headless Horseman exhibit had still been unfinished by the time Stiles had left after his shift on Thursday, he couldn't do that to Satomi or the kids. He even came in early to pick up the slack and to at least console himself with having made the best display.

"Stiles!" Satomi ran over as soon as Stiles stepped foot through the door. "I need your help getting some more plates out of the supply closet."

"Uh… " Stiles glanced at the clock. The library would be open to the public in twenty minutes, and he wanted to tinker with Derek's exhibit before everyone arrived. "Can you give me ten?"

"The step stool isn't where it's supposed to be, and I can't reach the shelf." Satomi tugged on his sleeve and urged him toward the storage room. For a four-foot-eleven-inch woman, she was surprisingly strong. "I really need those plates."

"I'll say," Stiles chuckled as she threw open the door. "What's so special about those plates, any—Oof!" he grunted, briefly registering the snick of the door closing behind him as he ran into a wall.

Well, not a wall. Against a well-developed, rock-hard chest, topped by a ridiculously handsome face, where a pair of green eyes were watching him cautiously.

"Really, Satomi?" Stiles shouted. Derek, who had reached out to steady Stiles after they collided, still hadn't let go. "Just for this, I'm not coming in on Saturdays anymore."

"Don't be mad at her. I just wanted a chance to talk to you."

Stiles blew out a long breath. "Well, I don't want to talk to you."

"Five minutes, Stiles. Please."

There was barely enough time to fix Derek's display, if its sorry appearance last Thursday was any indication, and Stiles was going to be pissed if he'd woken up earlier than usual on a Saturday for nothing. "Five minutes."

"Okay." For a brief moment, Derek's grip tightened on Stiles' hips, as if he couldn't bear the thought of releasing him. Eventually, he took a step back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Sorry. I'm a little nervous."

Stiles let out a snort. This was the same guy who routinely made 65-foot dimes as he was being rushed by an entire defensive line. 

"Four minutes," he conceded as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"You act like this was a one-and-done. I don't know what happened to make you think—"

"Look, I'll spare us both the trouble. You wanted to know what it was like to kiss a guy. It's not your fault the lines got a little blurred for me in the end, but everything's clear as crystal now."

Derek's brows scrunched together. "This wasn't some drunken experiment, Stiles. I like you. I have for a while. Do you think I just go around kissing people I don't care about?"

"I don't know. Maybe I should ask Paige Krasikeva, since you have no issues with kissing her as well. And I know we weren't a thing, but please respect me enough not to lie to my face and say it meant something. Not when you go around kissing anyone when it's convenient—"

"Paige is a close friend! Our families have known each other since we were kids!" Derek exclaimed. "After you left the library, Scott told me you were upset because you saw us at the car wash."

He did what? "Scott's dead to me," Stiles fumed. "Not that it changes anything."

"Stiles, I kissed Paige—on the top of her head—because she told me to get my head out of my ass and do something I've been thinking about for a while."

"Oh really? And what was that?" Stiles sneered.

"To tell you that I really, really liked you. And that I didn't want to have to hide it anymore. That is, if you were willing."

Stiles' jaw dropped. "If I was willing? Why wouldn't I be? You were the one who didn't want to be seen with me!"

"That's not true. I wanted to. I did," Derek insisted as Stiles opened his mouth to protest, "but you were always so… ornery every time I tried to say anything to you at school. Like when I said 'hi' to you in Harris' class and you just ignored me. I thought you didn't want anyone to know."

"Jackson was giving you shit. I was trying to spare you from being seen with the loser who had a thing for his on-again, off-again girlfriend since middle school."

Derek ran his hand over the lower half of his face. "I don't give a shit about what Jackson thinks. Especially when it comes to who I like. The only thing I care about is whether you still want to date Lydia, because that would make what I'm about to do super embarrassing."

"Make what embarrassing?" Stiles asked as Derek reached around him to open the closet door. His head was still spinning from everything Derek had confessed. "And no, I don't want to date Lydia. Can we go back to the thing about you liking me and not wanting to hide anymore? Because I think I'm missing a couple of steps."

"I'll do you one better than that." Derek linked his fingers with Stiles' and led him outside. Several families were exiting their cars, and Stiles' stomach sank when he realized they only had a half-finished display to share with the kids.

"Oh god. It's story time," he groaned. "And I didn't have time to fix the decorations."

"Well, it's a good thing I did," Derek said with a smirk. "With a little help from some friends, of course."

"Come on, 'Tiles!" Kyle shouted. He jumped up and down, and the fabric of his Superman cape twisted behind him and nearly got tangled under his feet.

Stiles let go of Derek's hand and ran over. "Woah there, little buddy," he said, fixing Kyle's cape. "We don't want you hurting anything else."

"We're ready when you are," Bella added primly. There was a chorus of agreement from many of the children who had now gathered around them.

"Man. Tough crowd," Stiles declared. "Well, who am I to stand in the way of what the people want? Shall we head inside?"

Derek coughed. "Actually, we're doing something a little different today. Instead of Story Time with Stiles, we're doing—"

"Story Time for Stiles!" the kids finished, pointing to the side of the library where The Legend of Sleepy Hollow showcase was the first display of Fall Fest. 

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, I wanted to do Shake, Rattle, and Read," he said as the group made their way there. "But I lost out to popular opinion."

When they reached the start of the decorations, Stiles leaned forward and stared. Derek's exhibit looked more complete than Stiles had remembered; somehow, in the past two days, he managed to fashion a decent steed using an inflatable stick horse prop and some oddly shaped, overstuffed black garbage bags with leaves poking out at the ends. But while the Headless Horseman appeared spookily fearsome in all his football regalia, Derek had apparently run out of time to finish the rest, because the cheerleader's straw-filled body was now half-bare, wearing only a pair of jeans.

"I don't understand," Stiles whispered, turning to Derek. "You could have won the bet easily by using some of the cool decorations you had at home. And why did you strip off the original costume just to leave it even more unfinished?"

"I wanted to win on my own merit. But you're right; it needs something a little extra. May I?" Derek asked, pointing to Stiles' hoodie.

It wasn't exactly a cold snap, but the temperatures had dipped twenty degrees from the summer-like weather last week. Even Derek was wearing his letterman jacket. But Stiles couldn't say no; not when everyone was watching him intently.

He shrugged off his sweatshirt and handed it to Derek. "Look, it's better than nothing, but if we're going to do this, we should do it right," he said as Derek hung it over the scarecrow's form. "I think Mrs. Claus' dress is in one of the boxes in the supply room. It'll just take me a sec to—"

"No!" Kyle shouted as Bella groaned. 

"He doesn't get it," she said, turning a pair of accusatory eyes toward Derek. 

Satomi's eyes widened at the outburst. She quickly herded the growing audience toward the start of the displays and waved her hands to gain everyone's attention.

"Welcome to Fall Fest!" she said as Stiles let out a whoop. "Fall is my favorite time of the year. Can anyone guess why?"

"Trick or treat!" Kyle piped up.

"Campfires and s'mores," Josi, an older boy who was a regular on Saturdays, offered.

Lee raised his hand straight up in the air. "I know! Apple picking."

"And mulled apple cider and apple pie!" one of the parents chimed in, rubbing his belly.

"Yes! I love all those suggestions! Including the mulled cider," Satomi added with a wink. "Fall means so many things. Crisp, cool temperatures. Comfort foods and warm clothing. The ever-changing colors of the leaves. And for many, the start of school," she added as several children groaned. "Many people associate spring with rejuvenation, but I think fall can also represent new beginnings." She turned slowly to face the various members of the crowd. When she reached Stiles, her eyes seemed to linger. "This year, we decided to do something different for our Story Time Saturday. We have a very special presentation from some of our audience members, along with our newest volunteer, Derek."

"Me! I'm an audience member, too!" Kyle shouted as he stood next to Derek. 

"A super one," Satomi agreed, giving Kyle an indulgent smile. "For those of you who are unable to stay for the show, please feel free to stroll among the exhibits. There's also an arts and crafts table at the end where you're welcome to make fall-themed plates and mini mason jars."

"Wait a minute," Stiles said when Satomi stepped away, relinquishing the spotlight to Derek and the children. "So, the paper plates weren't a ruse to… you know?"

"I have no idea what you mean," Satomi said, even as the corners of her mouth quirked. "Now hush; the show's about to start."

Several of the library-goers chose to wander through the displays instead, but Stiles was glad to see that they were few in number.

"Thank you so much for coming," Derek said as the majority of those who were milling about took a seat around him. "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is a story I've always associated with Halloween. I thought it was just a spooky tale, one whose Headless Horseman used to keep me up at night. But then some very good—and some very smart—friends of mine reminded me that there are different ways to interpret a story."

"Tim Burton would certainly agree," Stiles whispered as Satomi nodded.

Derek took a deep breath. "Once upon a time, there was a man named Ichabod Crane. He read a lot, and he was so smart, he became the schoolmaster of the town where he grew up. Ichabod had a very vivid and fanciful imagination."

Kyle, Bella, Josi, Lee, and several other children in the audience stood in front of Derek's display. Stiles watched as they started to move. Some pretended to read a book, another mimed writing on a blackboard, while several others simply walked around. It reminded Stiles so much of the story times his mother had led, that he felt a lump lodge in his throat.

Kyle looked up from under the shock of hair that hung over his forehead. "That's you, Stiles," he said loudly, pointing to the scarecrow wearing Stiles' hoodie as several in the audience chuckled, Stiles included.

"He also had a crush on a beautiful girl named Katrina," Derek continued. "Katrina was the daughter of Baltus Van Tassel, a wealthy farmer in town."

Some of the older boys made kissing faces, while Bella made a gagging sound. 

"Ichabod had hoped to date Katrina," Derek said, unable to suppress a smile at their antics. "But he wasn't the only one. Brom Van Brunt was the town blacksmith. Brom was big and strong and popular and rode a black horse." Lee flexed his arms like a strongman while Josi mimicked riding a steed. Several of the children clustered around Derek, and Stiles had to admit that he understood the pull. "Ichabod thought Brom must have liked Katrina too, because he was always pulling pranks on Ichabod. One night, at a party, Brom overheard Katrina turn Ichabod down. He thought this was his big chance to clear the air with Ichabod, but when Ichabod saw Brom enter the room, he thought Brom and Katrina were together and ran out." The pointed look Derek gave Stiles had Stiles covering his face with his hands. "Brom told Katrina he had to leave and saddled his horse, but Ichabod already had a head start. It was getting dark, and it looked like Ichabod had taken a shortcut through a deserted pumpkin patch."

Stiles lifted his head. "A deserted pumpkin patch?" he asked in disbelief.

"Shh. It's necessary for the story," Derek said, grinning. "Brom tried to chase Ichabod, but Ichabod couldn't tell who it was because it was dark. It was also cold and windy, so Brom's cloak flew out behind him as he rode." Many of the children began making haunting, ghostly sounds, and Stiles cupped his hands around his mouth and joined them. "When Ichabod turned, he couldn't see anything except for the shapes of the horse and the cloak in the shadows, so he ran even faster."

"Then Brom threw the pumpkin!" Kyle finished with a screech.

"He what?!" Stiles looked at Derek in shock.

"Uh, Brom meant well, but sometimes his ideas weren't the best. He'd reached down and pulled a pumpkin from the patch and threw it because he wanted Ichabod to stop running. Of course, it only frightened Ichabod more. So Brom finally decided to stop his pranks. He told Ichabod that he thought he was smart, and funny, and talented. And while Ichabod thought Brom didn't like him, the truth was, all he wanted was to be friends."

"So what did Ichabod do?" Satomi called out.

"Ichabod said 'yes,'" Bella concluded. "Because he knew that even though he was smart, he wasn't always right. It was important for him and Brom to use their words. And once they did, they became friends for a very long time."

All the performers lined up in a row and took a long bow. After story time was finished, some of the families lingered, taking pictures in front of the Sleepy Hollow exhibit.

"So. Friends, huh?" Stiles teased as Derek walked over.

Derek ran a hand through his hair. His cheeks were flushed a delicious pink from his exertions, and the gold and light blue of his eyes matched the bright colors of the fall sky. "Well, I was thinking… that maybe 'boyfriends' would be even better."

Stiles sucked in his breath. "Really?"

"Really." Derek said, taking Stiles' hand. "I had to keep things PG-rated, but what I really wanted to say up there was that you, Stiles Stilinski, are smart, and funny, and talented. You thought I had it in for you, but the truth is, I've liked you for an embarrassingly long time."

Stiles swallowed. "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. And it might have taken me a while, but I think I'm finally getting the picture." He wanted to ask Derek if being boyfriends meant they could still sneak around in the stacks and tick off several more items on his bucket list, but there were still people close by. "You know you're going to win best display," he conceded. "But you also had an unfair advantage by using it as part of story time. What happened to winning on your own merit?"

"Losing wasn't an option. The prize was too important."

Stiles' eyes narrowed. "You're not driving Roscoe. My Jeep is very temperamental."

"I'm not surprised. But that wasn't what I had in mind," Derek said, and the soft smile he gave Stiles was enough for Stiles' legs to feel like jelly. "What I was hoping to ask... Well, if I won, was... Stiles, will you go to the Homecoming Dance with me?"

"Yes," Stiles managed to say once the pounding of his heart had quieted to something more normal. "Yes, I'd be glad to."

Derek took off his varsity jacket and wrapped it around Stiles. It smelled faintly of soap and pine needles, and Stiles couldn't help but press his nose against the fabric as he discreetly inhaled. 

"Since you gave up your hoodie for the cause," Derek said. "And to make it official."

"Aren't you supposed to kiss to make it official?" someone piped up.

Stiles jumped. He'd been so lost in his conversation with Derek, he hadn't known anyone else was there. When he turned, he saw Bella watching them with an arched brow.

"You're right. She's going to be absolutely terrifying," Derek whispered after Bella picked up her bag and flounced away, just loud enough for Stiles to hear.

Stiles puckered up. "Well, you heard the girl," he said, leaning in and kissing Derek softly.

As was expected, Derek won 'Best Display' of Fall Fest. Still, Stiles couldn't find it in his heart to be bummed. 

He was pretty sure he'd won something pretty amazing as well.

~fin~