Chapter Text
Stiles nervously eyes the door he’s standing down the hall from, anxiously glancing at his watch and back up. “He’s late,” he complains to Scott, who’s standing beside him but mooning at his phone while texting Kira.
“Hmm?” Scott asks, barely glancing up at Stiles. “Oh no man, I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”
“But he’s rarely ever laate,” Stiles exclaims.
“Well maybe today is a bad day for him,” Scott says reasonably.
Stiles gasps dramatically. “Don’t jinx it Scott!”
Scott winces apologetically. “Sorry dude,”
“Last time you jinxed it, I ended up not seeing him for a week. A week!” Stiles exclaims.
“A total coincidence,” Scott squeaks.
Stiles rolls his eyes and turns around to continue watching the door vigilantly. “C’mon c’mon c’mon,” he murmurs under his breath.
His hawk-like gaze widens as soon as the door moves an inch. “He’s coming!” he whisper-shouts to Scott, slapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder repeatedly.
“Ow,” Scott complains, reaching up to rub at the place where Stiles hit him.
Stiles ignores him and straightens up, striving to look cool and nonchalant and like he has every logical reason to be in the architecture building when he is a Criminology and Psychology major – hint: he doesn’t.
He rocks nervously on the balls of his feet but tries to school his expression into a neutral one. “One, two, three,” he mutters. “Four, five, six, NOW Scott!”
Scott tucks his phone away and falls into step with Stiles, pretending to be engrossed in conversation. Stiles eyes the door from the corner of his eyes and spots the exact moment that the man of his dreams, the hottest Alpha team member, the #1 person who features in his dreams, wet or otherwise, walks out the door with his pack of friends flanking him.
Stiles times it perfectly so that they cross paths where they can be face to face and Stiles can – discreetly – gawk lovingly at the leather-clad man.
Mustering up all the courage he has ever needed in all of his 20-years of life, Stiles takes a deep breath and looks directly at the object of his desires. “Derek,” Stiles greets, jerking his head up in a bro nod.
Derek Hale, for his part, only gives Stiles weirded-out look as he continues to walk by, eyebrows drawn together in a serial-killer scowl.
All the blood leeches out of Stiles’ face and it turns white as he whirls around to face Scott, clutching his arm in a bruising grip. “Oh God, Scott, I said his name. I said his name. I’m not supposed to know his name.” Stiles clenches his eyes shut and moans painfully. “Now he’ll know I stalk him!”
“There there buddy,” Scott replies, patting his arm sympathetically. “At least he looked at you today!” he quips out cheerfully.
The only sound that comes out of Stiles is a pitiful whimper that makes Scott wince.
***
Two days later, Stiles is sitting on a bench in the quad. He’s in disguise, of course – a Mets baseball cap, sunglasses, and a grey hoodie instead of his usual red one. He has an open textbook in front of him and he’s currently peeking up over it at the table located fifty feet from him, under the shade of a large oak tree. On the table are Erica Reyes, Isaac Lahey, Vernon Boyd, Cora Hale and, most importantly, Derek Hale. And Stiles is unabashedly staring.
He startles and flails when he hears a loud thud on the table. He look up at the offending textbook that generated the sound and then up to see Lydia Martin, goddess of all goddesses, genius of the mathematics department, and one of his best friends, frowning down at him.
“This is getting tedious, Stiles,” she sighs.
“Shhhh!” Stiles hisses, reaching up to drag her down to sit next to him. “Don’t say my name so loud! He’ll hear.”
Lydia rolls her eyes but obligingly settles next to him. For a moment they both turn and glance at the jock table housing three of the most important players on the lacrosse team at Berkeley. Stiles gives out a delighted sigh at the sight of Derek removing his leather jacket, muscles flexing deliciously.
“Stiles,” Lydia says sharply, snapping her fingers in front of his face to draw his attention.
He reluctantly turns away from live, fully-clothed porn to look at her. “What?” he grumbles.
Lydia rolls her eyes again. “When are you going to ask him out?”
Stiles squeaks. “Never!”
Lydia glares at him. “You are not going to pine for the next two years,”
Stiles smiles cheekily. “Who says I’ll stop pining after graduation?”
Lydia’s eyes widen and it amuses Stiles that she has actually underestimated Stiles’ determination to stalk and gawk Derek Hale.
“Stiles!” she reprimands.
He holds up his hands in the surrendering gesture. “Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles.
Lydia glares at him for a moment longer before her expression smooths out into one of worry. “I mean it, Stiles. How long are you going to do this? You’ve memorized his schedule, you wait around corners for hours just to get one glance at him, and you spend at least two of your weekly lunch hours over here at the architecture hangout just to stare at him. How long are you going to keep this up? It’s been months. Just ask him out already. The worst that can happen is that he’d say no.”
Stiles glances away and shrugs. “I don’t know, Lydia.”
She sighs. “Not everyone will be like Heather,”
Stiles winces even as his face hardens; he resolutely refuses to look at Lydia. “You mean not everyone will date me and then turn around and tell me they’d only been dating me to get some practice and to make her ex jealous, and that no one would actually ever want to go out with me for real because I’m a loud-mouth, know-it-all little shit who never knows when to quit?” he growls out bitterly.
Lydia’s face hardens. “Heather was a bitch who didn’t know what she had. Stiles, you’re amazing. It’s her loss that she didn’t see that.”
Stiles sighs, having heard this from Lydia and Scott and Kira and Allison and his dad a dozen times before.
“And,” Lydia continues, and Stiles should have known she wasn’t done. “Just because she didn’t see it doesn’t mean someone else won’t. Someone like, say, Derek Hale.”
Stiles huffs out a laugh as he finally looks at her directly. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
Lydia leans towards him to bump her shoulders with his. “Always. So now, stop this pining and formulate a plan to ask him out. Or so help me God, I just might do it for you.”