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It started with the little things.
That’s what Derek insisted, at least, and he would die before admitting otherwise. Because when he’d come back to Beacon Hills and met a pair of idiots in the preserve; one with a stupid crooked jaw and another with a stupid pale face, Derek hadn’t expected to ever like them. Or tolerate them.
Or ever care about one of them on a slightly greater level than the other.
That was stupid. Derek had never expected it.
So when he came to the realization that he might care, watching Stiles attempt to balance a spoon on his nose while Erica and Isaac made bets, Derek nearly snorted water out of his nose. He received more than one strange look for that.
It started with the little things— like Stiles being an idiot— that made Derek realize he might care. And things proceeded to go downhill from there.
“Derek,” Stiles said one day, bursting out onto the porch while the others trained. “I need to borrow a shirt.”
Derek turned around and nearly choked on his own breath. Because Stiles— idiotic Stiles— was standing barechested in the sunlight, waving his soaked shirt through the air.
Derek’s heart leaped into his throat and the others promptly stopped training, turning to look at them. The others just looked confused, but Erica was staring with a scarily intrigued look on her face. A slow grin crept across her face.
“What,” Derek managed to get out, and Stiles rolled his eyes, gesturing to his bare chest. As if Derek hadn’t already noticed it.
“Lydia doused me in dish soap. I need to borrow a shirt.”
“W-why.”
Stiles gave him a disbelieving look. “Because, Sourwolf, I’m sticky and smell like oranges. Do I need to spell this out?”
Derek stared in silence. He was doing his best not to look at Stiles’s bare chest; but when had the idiot gotten muscles? Last Derek remembered, Stiles had been all skin and bone. The universe was working against him.
Derek was pretty sure his face was bright red. Stiles arched a brow, studying his face. “Are you alright, Derek? Are you having a stroke?”
“Upstairs,” Derek said, the words sticking in his throat. “Second drawer of my dresser.”
“... So you’re not dying?”
“Go put a shirt on, Stiles!”
Stiles blinked in surprise and threw his hands up, turning away with words ‘crazy grumpy alpha werewolves’ muttered through the air. Derek physically forced himself to turn away and saw his pack staring at him in confusion.
His face burned hot. Derek crossed his arms with a glare. “I didn’t tell any of you to stop.”
The others jumped back into it, but Erica was smirking at him. Derek glared harder and let his eyes flicker red, but beta only snorted and winked at him, before turning back to Boyd. Derek frowned even deeper at that.
Stupid Stiles. What was even happening here? Derek didn’t like it.
It kept happening.
Derek didn’t mean to make a fool of himself, but then Stiles came into the room hollering “I’m a gorgeous beast who deserves to have sex!” and the next thing he knew, Derek was on the floor.
It all happened so fast, he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He’d been minding his own business, making a cup of coffee, and half-listening to the rest of the pack talk about their love lives (gross) when all attention turned to Stiles. Who apparently— not that Derek cared— was severely lacking one.
“It’s because it’s Stilinski,” Jackson said, and Derek could smell Stiles’s indignation at that. “Of course, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Or a boyfriend either, you asshole.”
Derek nearly spilled his coffee. Erica jumped into the conversation, sounding amused. “That’s not helping your case, Stiles.”
“It is too. It just means I have more options.”
“To get rejected by?”
“Shut up, Jackson. You’re an asshole and I hate you.”
Erica said something else that Derek didn’t catch and he tried to focus on his coffee, nothing else. But then he heard Stiles jump up and, as the boy stalked from the living room, hollered at the top of his lungs; “I’m a gorgeous beast who deserves to have sex!” and it was all over for Derek.
He thought he might’ve stumbled over his own feet. Possibly because he was trying to escape the kitchen as fast as possible. It didn’t work.
Instead, he ended up on the floor with coffee everywhere, and the pack gathered at the doorway of the kitchen looking concerned. Except for Erica, who was grinning. And Jackson, who looked douche-ily amused.
“Uh, Derek?” Stiles said, peering down at him. “Are you alright down there?”
“Shut up,” Derek said, shoving himself to his feet. He didn’t even try to clean up the mess or explain himself, stalking from the room. The stares of the pack followed.
Derek was so done with everything.
By the third time, Derek wasn’t fooling anyone. At least, not Erica, but he didn’t think he’d been fooling her from the start.
It was all Stiles’s fault. As usual.
This time, all it took was a simple translation. The monster of the week was some sort of mythical creature that none of them knew about, until Lydia found an excerpt on the thing written in Polish. She sighed in frustration and glanced around the room, offering it out.
“Anyone know Polish?”
And, as Derek watched dumbfounded, Stiles proceeded to take the book from her hands and recite the passage perfectly. They all stared at him for a moment and when Stiles looked up, noticing the silence, his face turned red.
“What?” he said, closing the book. “My mom taught me a few phrases when I was a kid and I’ve been teaching myself ever since. I know all the curse words, listen to this—”
Derek fell off the side of the couch.
Stiles reciting a bunch of swear words in Polish really shouldn’t have made his heart pound so hard, but he had feelings for an idiot, which must make him an idiot, so of course it did. Derek didn’t realize he’d been slipping off the cushions, staring at Stiles’s mouth in surprise, until after he’d dropped to the floor and everyone was staring at him.
Derek blinked a few times. Then he shoved himself up and stumbled from the room, face hot. He thought he heard Stiles call his name, but ignored the boy, focused on getting out.
Out ended up being out of the house, out. Derek couldn’t think clearly until the evening air hit his face and the door swung closed at his back, surrounding him in silence. Calming, comforting silence.
Until Erica followed him outside, at least. Derek clenched his jaw and glared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her. But Erica didn’t seem to care, stepping to his side with her arms crossed.
“Why are you being more of an idiot than usual, oh Alpha mine?”
“Go back inside.”
“Derek, I swear to god, even I’m embarrassed for you. Have you suddenly lost control over your feet? Are you dying? Because everyone has noticed it and don’t even think none of us have realized how your scent keeps changing whenever Stiles is—”
“Shut up,” Derek said, cutting her off. Erica dropped her arms and stared at him.
“Oh my god,” she said. “You’re in love with him.”
“I am not.”
“That’s what it is,” Erica said, eyes wide. “I couldn’t place it and I know for a fact none of the others have either. You smell like flowers, Derek, flowers. Because you’re in love with him. You’re in love with Stiles.”
Derek gritted his teeth harder together and didn’t answer. Erica snorted softly.
“It’s about time.”
This time, it was Derek’s turn to stare at her. The blonde-haired beta rolled her eyes and looked exasperated.
“Seriously, Derek? Have you not realized what Stiles smells like every time you’re around?”
Derek actually had. Lately, he’d focused too hard on what Stiles smelled like; cinnamon and species and fall leaves— he blinked before his mind could wander, Erica’s words sinking in. “Wait, what?”
“You’re both so hopeless, I swear to god.”
“Does Stiles like me?”
“Are you serious? Did you just ask me that? For fuck’s sake, Derek, Stiles is in love with you. He has been long enough for everyone else to know. Even Jackson, and he lives in his own head.”
“Stiles… likes me?”
“Oh my god,” Erica said with a groan. She grabbed his arm and opened the door, where the rest of the pack was standing in the hallway and staring at them with round eyes— of course, the idiots had been listening in. Only Stiles looked confused, looking between Derek, the pack, and then back. Erica shoved him forward. “You two, talk. Everyone else, out.”
Erica could be quite terrifying when she wanted to be. No one else needed to be told twice, filtering out of the house. Stiles looked even more confused.
“Derek?”
Derek shuffled his feet and glanced toward the door again. Erica pointed to each of them and then smirked, blowing a kiss goodbye, before turning out the door and vanishing.
Sometimes, Derek hated her.
“Derek?” Stiles said again, sounding even smaller this time. Derek took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself down before turning to Stiles. The boy was looking at him with round amber eyes and he smelled like cinnamon. Cinnamon and spices and fall leaves and—
Derek took a nervous step backward and lost his footing, falling hard to the floor.
From outside the door, he heard the sound of resounding groans.