A blaring whistle made Derek slowly look up from his phone to peer at the field in front of him.

He watched as the lacrosse players ambled into line, most still grinning - despite the gloomy weather that seemed to contradict the action - and murmuring amongst themselves, while the other, more intelligent, players stretched out in preparation for the grueling practice that was to come.

Derek could only roll his eyes at the idiots who apparently could not shut the fuck up. They were the reasons why Derek had quit the team in only his freshman year. He truly did like the game - but he hated the immature brats he had to call teammates.

So, really, it was any wonder why he continued to watch all of their practices and pay to go to their games.

But Derek did have a reason. His name was Stiles Stilinski. And Derek was absolutely enchanted by him.

Stiles was a small boy with a stubborn mindset and a determined heart. He had soft brown hair and stormy brown eyes that could stop even the giant of giants in its path. He was a bony kid who rarely spoke but always captured the attention of those who surrounded him when he did.

Well, at least in Derek's mind.

Stiles had first caught the teen's attention junior year. It was unusual to see a younger boy such as him try out for the team. Even more so to see him never miss a single practice, or game - even if he didn't ever play - and watch him try harder than any other boy there had to.

It didn't take long for Derek to figure out that he had asthma. And maybe that was one of the reasons Derek found him so endearing. He certainly wasn't the normal type to play sports, but he didn't let that stop him. Stiles' insistence to be apart of the team had Derek drawn to him from the beginning.

So it was slightly distressing to find that the boy was not among the other players that day like he usually was - standing at the end of the line and never interacting with his 'teammates'.

Derek got up from his spot on the bleacher - the top one in the corner, and also the furthest seat from the field - because he had no desire to watch lacrosse practice if Stiles wasn't there, too, and made his way down the bleachers.

He zipped up his leather jacket halfway in an effort to protect himself from the cool breeze, and threw his backpack over one shoulder.

He was at his motorcycle, just about to put on his helmet, when the insistent nagging in the back of his head to go find Stiles became overwhelming. Derek growled under his breath and just resisted the urge to kick the crap out of something - preferably not his motorcycle.

He roughly put his helmet back and turned around again, trying to think of a place he could start to look first.

It came to him in the form of Scott, Stiles' best and only friend as far as Derek could tell. At least, he was the only one Derek had ever found Stiles talking to.

He knew about the Cartoon Club after school that Scott liked to go to - as Derek had the misfortune of having detention that day, and he saw the other boy going in to the room. He wasn't necessarily sure what one did in the club - if you just talked about cartoons or watched them all afternoon - or why exactly one would want to attend, but, to each their own.

Derek was more concerned about Stiles than he was about walking into a room full of nerds and geeks, and overall people that were not like him.

Not that anybody in the school was much like him.

Derek found the room he'd once seen Scott go into, and acknowledged the sign on the door:

Cartoon Club
Invite Only

He promptly ignored it, barging into the classroom with what was probably a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

Invite my ass.

Many eyes looked up at him, startled, but he was only interested in the boy with large, brown eyes and long, curly brown. The boy was gaping at him.

"Are you Scott?" Derek asked calmly, even though he already knew the answer. He kind of enjoyed watching idiots just like him scramble for an answer, confused and slightly terrified at what exactly someone like Derek could possibly want with them.

Derek was a terrible person, and he knew it. But he had his own reasons for disliking Scott.

The boy pushed a lock of hair from his face and stood up from his desk in what Derek could only assume was an act of courage. He almost laughed.

"Y-Yeah, I'm Scott. What do you want?" Scott glanced at the people that surrounded him, all of whom were staring at Derek with round eyes.

"You know Stiles Stilinski?"

Scott froze at the name of his 'friend', just like Derek expected he would.

"Yes. What do you want with him?"

Derek glanced around at their audience and decided it would probably be best if they took this outside. "Come with me."

Scott hesitated for a second, but quickly followed Derek out the door when he gave him a look that wasn't promising.

"Where is he?" Derek demanded as soon as they were safely away from nosy ears.

"W-What? Why?"

"I know you know, moron. Tell me now, and I won't tell him what you did," he threatened, glaring.

Scott looked at him in surprise, quickly followed by panic. "H-How could you possibly know about that?"

Derek gave him a cryptic smile. "I'm very observant."

Scott shook his head, backing up, but he wasn't going anywhere. Derek wouldn't let him. "No. No way. You're bluffing," he insisted as brown eyes stared at him pleadingly. "You don't know anything."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

Scott cracked.

"Fine! He went home, alright," Scott crumbled under Derek's stare and refused to look him in the eye.

But Derek was still lost. Why would Stiles go home? Why did Stiles miss practice?

"Why?" Derek ordered, becoming increasingly irritated with the other boy's vagueness.

Scott bit his lip, as if trying with one last desperate attempt to keep the words in. Derek realized that Stiles must not have wanted anyone else to know what was wrong with him. Now fear was overcoming what used to just be concern for someone he liked.

What the hell was wrong with Stiles? And why did he care so much?

"Some guys on the lacrosse team were messing with him yesterday after school. They gave him a black eye and split lip, and threatened if he didn't back off and quit the team, his brother was next."

Derek was practically boiling with rage by the time Scott finished his re-cap. Of course some idiots had to be the cause. Derek knew that one beating wouldn't hold back Stiles from getting what he wanted. So they had to take another approach, and threaten Stiles' freshman brother that Derek knew Stiles cared for a lot.

"Why do you even care?" Scott asked after a moment of intense silence.

Derek stared at him. "Oh, shut up," he growled. "And if you ever pull shit on Stiles like that again, you'll regret it."

Derek stormed off down the hallway with Scott gaping after him, mostly because if he didn't leave, he would punch something - with a very real possibility of that 'something' being Scott's face - but also partly because he really didn't know how to answer Scott's question.

Again, Derek made his way to his motorcycle, vowing that he would talk to Stiles tomorrow, even though he wasn't sure what that would mean. He could only hope that the boy didn't label him a creepy stalker, even though he would have every right to.

Derek was, unfortunately, unable to catch sight of Stiles the next day during school, even though he learned in his next chat with Scott that Stiles had, in fact, come to school. This was mostly due to the fact that they shared no classes together, which did make sense, even if it slightly annoyed Derek at times. Such as right then.

Derek was in a grade level above Stiles, to start. And more than that, Stiles was a very intelligent and clever guy, as Derek had quickly figured out, and he took all the honor classes while Derek was stuck in the regular.

But he had not yet given up.

Scott had also thought to tell him that Stiles would probably be walking home today, since there was no lacrosse practice regardless if he was still on the team or not.

But, as it turned out, today was not his day.

His last period teacher felt the need to hold him back for a minute as she tried to talk to him about his grades and what he should be doing if he wanted to graduate the horror known as high school.

Derek could barely concentrate, let alone come up with a plan that would help better him as a student. He was eternally grateful when the stupid bi- When the supportive educator finally took the hint and let him go.

Unfortunately still, Stiles could very well be long gone, and Derek had no idea which way to go, or where to even start looking.

He rushed to the back doors of the school, just in case he might still find Stiles there, but instead heard rustling and voices further down. Derek was about to just ignore it and keep looking, when he heard Stiles' voice - something he may or may not have committed to memory.

The rustling and rough calling of voices started to make sense to Derek, and a rage unlike he'd ever felt before began to rise in him, almost blinding him entirely. He tried to control it to the best of his abilities, at least for now, so he didn't accidentally kill somebody and scare the shit out of Stiles.

Derek strode to where he heard all the noise coming from, concentrating on each step so he didn't lose his restraint.

"I'm getting really tired of your smart-ass responses, you little bitch," Jackson, a guy on the lacrosse team that Derek had always hated, was saying as he came into view.

"Then maybe you should stop with the stupid-ass questions," Stiles grumbled. He was pushed up against the wall of the building by his shirt. A cut in his lip had started to bleed, and the black eye Scott had told Derek about was now very apparent.

Jackson started pulling back his fist as another kid on the lacrosse team - his name escaping Derek - just watched.

"Hey!" Derek barked, just moments before Jackson was about to let his fist fly.

Jackson froze, and three pairs of eyes turned to look at him as Derek finally stopped before him and Stiles.

Jackson didn't still himself for long, and soon he was narrowing his eyes at Derek. "Who the hell are you?"

Stiles was staring at him blankly, but his light brown eyes were a storm of emotions. Derek was rather annoyed at being unable to understand the expression.

"Let him go," he demanded once he gave up trying to decipher what Stiles may - or may not - have been trying to tell him with just his eyes.

"What's it to you?" Jackson returned hotly. He turned his attention back to Stiles. "What? You're getting big boys to come and save you, now?"

Stiles' eyes snapped fire and he spit at Jackson's face. "Screw you! No one comes and 'saves' me. I can take care of myself perfectly fine!" He turned to look at Derek. "I don't even know him!" he insisted, his attention drawn back to Jackson.

Derek wished he would just shut up. While he admired the smaller boy's courage and bravery, Derek was just trying to get them out of a sticky situation without completely exploding.

He could tell that Jackson was becoming slightly overwhelmed as confusion started to fuel his hostility; the two were never a good combination. He thought the other boy that was still watching might've had the right idea when he started backing up slowly. This had the potential of getting very ugly, very fast.

"Just shut up!" Jackson snarled, and Derek saw him pull his fist back slightly. That was enough for him.

He shoved Jackson roughly with pent up strength that came from his anger, and watched in satisfaction as the boy had to let go of Stiles and fall to his ass on the grassy and dirty ground. "Don't fucking touch him," he hissed.

Without completely recognizing what he was doing, Derek had already grabbed Stiles' scrawny wrist - lightly, he didn't actually want to hurt him - and was hauling the gaping boy away from the scene.

"Are you alright?" Derek asked once they were a safe distance away, trying to keep most of his concern from his voice, before letting go of the smaller boy's wrist.

Stiles pulled his wrist to his chest and rubbed at it - which Derek thought was slightly ridiculous, he swore he didn't hold it that hard. He was staring at Derek curiously through narrowed eyes, and Derek admittedly wasn't sure what to do next. Or what to even think, for that matter.

Instead of answering his question, Stiles suddenly asked, "You're Derek Hale, aren't you?"

Derek's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion at the abrupt change in topic, but he answered anyway. "Yeah."

Stiles nodded, but didn't appear to be very aware of the action. "You're the guy who's always watching the lacrosse team at practice. You know, the one who sits at the top of the bleachers?"

Derek's eyes widened slightly without his permission. Stiles knew about that? "Uh, yeah. That's me." He scratched the back of his head and involuntarily took a step back.

Stiles just nodded again.

Derek was not prepared for this. His plan to talk to Stiles didn't surpass anything farther than actually finding the boy, and he'd already done that. Honestly, it was any wonder why he wasn't in any honors classes.

"So you like lacrosse?"

Derek was a bit puzzled at the new question. Sure, he hadn't really planned for this, but he had a feeling that, if he had, he would be the one asking the questions.

"Yeah, I do."

Stiles remained silent for a moment, staring intently at the ground. Derek would've loved to know what he was thinking.

"You any good?"

Derek raised an eyebrow curiously. "I'm okay, I guess," he lied. He was damn good, and he knew it. Perhaps just a bit out of practice.

Stiles pursed his lips and looked away. "I'm not very good," he admitted.

Derek gulped. This was his chance to spend more time with the other boy. And protect him, if it came to that. "I can help you, if you want."

Stiles' eyes focused on him again. "Really?"

Derek stopped himself from nodding excitedly, but couldn't help a small smile. "Sure."

Stiles met up with the older boy the next afternoon, after school got out, but on a different field than where the lacrosse team usually practiced. He still didn't know the guy's motive behind helping him out, but Stiles thought that it was worth a shot to get some good advice, even if Derek did decide to screw him over.

As it happened, Stiles could still remember when Derek was on the team, when Stiles wasn't even in high school yet. Stiles and his dad went to see one of the games once, and Stiles was mesmerized by one boy - a freshman, no less.

He knew modesty when he saw it, and Derek was a lot more than just 'okay'. And while Stiles hadn't seen him play since, that night he saw Derek play changed his life. From then on, he was inspired to play like that freshman kid had played, even if it killed him.

And to be helped by the boy himself? Stiles couldn't believe his luck.

Maybe the universe wasn't actually against him.

"You ready?" Derek called, and Stiles watched as his brown hair whipped around in the harsh wind. Granted, it wasn't the best conditions to practice in, but Stiles would take all he could get.

"Ready," he called back, twisting his lacrosse stick back and forth.

Derek didn't make it easy on him - which he was grateful for - and helped him along, step-by-step. He grilled him until Stiles wanted to fall down, critiqued him harshly but truthfully, and refused to let him give up.

They had been on that field for well past two hours before Stiles really started having trouble breathing, and Derek called it quits.

"You all right?" he asked in what might've been concern.

"I'm fine," Stiles snapped back, immediately regretting it. He really did appreciate the other boy's help, but he hated the hindrances that made it feel impossible to be as good as anyone else. And he hated being reminded of them.

Derek raised an eyebrow, but didn't push it. "You did well," he complimented honestly, his green eyes sparkling with warmth. It admittedly confused Stiles.

"Thank you," Stiles replied. "For helping me out, and everything." He looked down, not sure why he was embarrassed. He certainly had never felt this way around anyone else.

Derek cocked his head. "No problem." He smiled. "Tomorrow?"

Stiles was slightly surprised by the offer. Did the older boy really want to spend that much time with him?

He nodded anyway. "Cool."

Derek started to walk away, and Stiles hesitated. "Hey!"

The boy turned around instantly, stopping in his tracks. "Yeah?"

Stiles gulped. What the hell was he doing? "Um... Why- Why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice pitching embarrassingly high. He cleared his throat.

Derek's lips quirked up in a not-quite smirk, and he shrugged. "'Cause I like you."

And then he was gone.

Stiles pretended that the blush very apparent on his cheeks was from the chilly wind.

Derek and Stiles never really saw each other during school, but after that afternoon, whenever they happened to pass each other in the hallways, there was always a smile for the other, along with a polite nod.

The two practiced after school, and it was obvious to them both how much Stiles was improving. Apparently all it took was someone else who actually wanted him to succeed. Not to mention it helped Derek brush up on his skills.

Some days were better than others. And some days Stiles felt so entirely hopeless, he wanted to give up altogether.

On those days, Derek sat down with him and they talked. Derek learned that the Boston Cannons were Stiles' favorite team. He also learned that he had always wanted to play in the attack position. He'd never been in an actual game, but went to them all anyways because he wanted to prove that he was a team member whether or not they wanted to admit it, and that he would not give up.

But Stiles started to lose hope that he would ever be any good when no one - not even the coach - even tried to help him out. It was pretty much over when those idiots on the team threatened him and his little brother, and since, the only lacrosse he got was from the practices with Derek.

Derek in turn told him about himself. He told him why he stopped playing lacrosse - to which Stiles nodded in understanding. He told him that he'd always loved the Denver Outlaws - as he used to live in Colorado - and his favorite player would always be Greg Downing.

They would chat for a while, occasionally disagree, laugh, and then move on.

And those afternoons were probably the most interesting things to happen to Derek all year.

"You wanna get a bite to eat?" Derek asked at last one Thursday. They'd been getting on really well so far, but Derek started to want to interact with the boy outside of lacrosse as well.

Stiles looked up in surprise from where he was packing up his stuff. "Sure," he agreed, and Derek wanted to sigh in relief.

Once Stiles finished packing his stuff into his locker, they made their way to Derek's motorcycle. Stiles appeared a bit nervous, but agreed to the helmet, getting on behind Derek and wrapping his thin arms around Derek's waist.

He smiled when he felt Stiles' headrest on the back of his shoulder, then started the bike, squealing out of the parking lot.

He felt as Stiles' grip on him tightened impossibly and then finally began to relax when he realized Derek wasn't there to kill them both. He grinned at Stiles' racing heartbeat, and sped up a little faster.

Stiles was grinning as he took off his helmet, giving it to Derek. They had parked at a diner that Derek had always enjoyed as a kid, and strolled into the little establishment casually.

They sat at a corner booth in the back of the restaurant and were given menus by a waitress.

Both of them ordered the same cliché meal of a burger, fry, and milkshake - chocolate for Derek and vanilla for Stiles.

"What else do you like to do?" Derek asked suddenly, watching Stiles dip a french-fry in some ketchup. "Besides playing lacrosse," he added when Stiles looked up at him.

Stiles chewed on the fry, and thought a bit. "I like videogames," he admitted eventually, shrugging and taking a sip of his shake. "Um, I also binge watch on Netflix quite a bit." He laughed, somewhat in embarrassment, staring down at his half-eaten burger.

Derek grinned, giddy with all the new information he was getting. "Cool. I binge watch all the time," he told him, hoping Stiles wouldn't be so embarrassed if he knew someone else did it, too.

And so it began. They conversed for what felt like hours, and the more Derek learned about Stiles, the more he fell for the younger boy. He let him talk, occasionally adding his own input so Stiles knew he was paying attention - as it was, he was hanging off his every word.

Derek dropped Stiles off at his house after Stiles got a call from his father. (He couldn't help chuckling as he heard the irritated man on the other end of the line - ... where the hell are you ...and... you better not be doing something stupid ...and... I expect a call next time ...)

Derek fell asleep that night with a smile on his face, all the progress they'd made going straight to his heart.

"What the hell, Derek?" demanded Stiles one afternoon, weeks later, both of them the only two left in the locker room after all the other boys on the team had finally left after another win. Derek winced at his friend's tone.

"What?" he asked in confusion, pulling on a white T-shirt after drying off his torso from just getting out of the shower.

"Is it true?" Stiles choked out from where he stood rigidly a few feet away, eyes watering despite his best efforts to blink back the tears. It made Derek's heart hurt.

"Is what true?" he asked gently, moving closer to the younger boy, only to have him back up a few steps. Derek halted, and his heart ached at Stiles' expression. What was going on?

"Is it true that coach only let me back on the team because you promised you'd play too if he did?" he ground out, sniffling.

Derek's eyes widened in surprise, guilt clawing at his insides. How could Stiles possibly know about that?

After the night he and Stiles had first had dinner at the diner, Derek could tell that Stiles wanted to get back on the team. And he thought that he should've been able to, too, because Stiles was showing vast improvement from when they'd first started practicing together.

Trouble was, when Derek went to talk to the head coach of the lacrosse team, the man had refused and said that because the younger boy had started skipping practices and didn't go to the games anymore, he was an unreliable player and couldn't be a dependable teammate. Which was, obviously, bullshit.

Derek hoped Stiles would realize that those idiots weren't worth the trouble, but getting back on the team started coming up in more and more conversations.

So, naturally, Derek made a deal with the devil. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

He said he'd only play if Stiles could play, too. Coach had accepted, reluctantly, and Derek had pushed down his guilt at seeing the look of delight on Stiles' face when he'd gotten the news that he would finally be playing in a game for the first time ever.

Stiles must've been able to read the look on his face, because he huffed, trying to make his anger supersede his hurt as he glared at Derek. "I can't believe you," he muttered. "I thought you were my friend. But, of course, it's all about you, isn't it? Obviously. I should've known that the only reason anyone would let me play was because they were getting something else out of it."

A single tear escaped Stiles' eye, and he brushed it away angrily before grabbing his bag and storming out of the locker room.

Derek shot up after him, catching the door before it slammed into his face. "Stiles, wait!" he called desperately, voice pained. "Stiles, please! I just wanted..."

But Stiles was already gone.

Derek sighed. "To make you happy," he mumbled softly, but the words were lost to the wind.

The two didn't speak again for the next few days, despite Derek's best efforts. It was as if they'd travelled back in time, when they had never talked, never even met properly, and Derek could only watch from afar.

Derek would be the first to say that he hated it.

It was almost deja vú of the time Derek had first talked to Stiles. But there was one difference this time - slight to anyone else, but major to him - and it broke him a little inside.

It was as if time had slowed as Derek watched Stiles get pushed up against the wall of the school building by the hands of Jackson, the same kid as before - Darren - watching on in silence. They were even in the same exact spot they were last time, with Jackson snarling nasty words and bringing his fist back, fingers clenched tightly to his palm.

But it was Stiles who grabbed his attention - and of course it was, really, he was the only thing that had his attention nowadays. He wasn't even trying to fight back, so unlike the feisty boy he'd seen first time around, and the look in his no longer stormy brown eyes spelled defeat.

Never before had Derek wanted to weep like a child as he did in that moment. And that kind of pain was too complex an emotion for him to deal with at the moment, so instead, he let his rage consume him, and the last thing he could remember of the next few seconds was the color red.

"Derek! Derek, stop!" came the cries of the boy he had learned to care about so much. It was the only thing he could understand, the only thing that got through to him through the ringing in his ears.

Cool hands took hold of his arm, pleading with him to let up, to just stop.

It's not worth it!

He's not worth it.

"Derek!"

Derek snapped out of his all-consuming rage to find hands pushing at his chest, stormy brown eyes wide and terrified, cries of alarm a never-ending echo inside his head.

Air entered and left his lungs in harsh pants of breath. His squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm down before opening them again. He loathed the way Stiles stared at him, as if the smaller boy had never seen him before.

His hands were shaky and bloody, and looking down at where Jackson lay terrified on the ground, face a bruised and bloody mess, he could see why.

He looked to see Darren still there, crouching silently beside Jackson, staring at him like he was insane. Derek didn't really blame him for that, but he still hated being looked at like that. And then his eyes found Stiles who still looked positively bewildered and panicked.

Derek immediately took a step back, praying to God that Stiles wouldn't be afraid of him now, because that's the last thing he could ever want.

He glanced at the two bullies one last time, and mumbled, "Don't... Don't tell anyone about this."

He then peered back at Stiles - trying to apologize with his eyes in the best way he could manage - and finally turned around in one clean swoop, running as far and as fast as physically possible.

"Derek! Wait, Derek!"

I'm sorry, Stiles. I'm so sorry. For everything.

"If you leave me here, Derek, I will never forgive you!"

He halted. His mind was screaming at him to keep going, to run far away from his problems - maybe if you run far enough, they'll never be able to catch up - but his heart screamed at him to stay, because he couldn't just leave Stiles. And his heart won.

Derek turned around and let Stiles walk up to him. The younger boy brought up his hands and cupped the taller boy's jaw. Derek inhaled sharply.

Stiles swallowed and looked at him with such intensity, Derek thought it might've knocked him off his feet if he had been any more unstable.

"What did you mean?" Stiles asked softly.

Derek let out a shaky breath. "What?"

Stiles held his gaze as he stepped forward so that the entire front of his body pressed against Derek's. "After we finished our very first practice together, I asked you why you were helping me. You said it was because you liked me. What did you mean?"

Derek was caught off guard by the question. Stiles wanted him to admit something that he hadn't even admitted to himself. How could he possibly tell Stiles how amazing he truly was, and how good he made him feel? There was so much at risk.

But looking at Stiles, the way his face was open and honest, so different from the closed off expression he'd been getting for days, and the way his gray eyes seemed to plead for the truth, Derek knew he couldn't lie about this.

"I meant..." Derek hesitated, but when he looked into Stiles' eyes, he found some courage left to hold on to.

"I meant that I care about you, Stiles. That I would never want to hurt you. I'm sorry for what I did, but I was only trying to make you happy. I swear that's all I've ever been trying to do."

Stiles' eyes widened at the honesty that spilled from Derek's lips in a cascade of his true feelings, Derek unable to do anything to stop it.

"You care about me?"

Derek carefully wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist, leaning his forehead against Stiles'. "So much."

Stiles quickly blinked away the water that was building in the corner of his eyes. He nodded. "Okay."

Derek couldn't help but stare on in confusion - and if hope seemed to bloom in the middle of his chest, then that was no one's business but his own. "Okay?"

Stiles closed his eyes and laid his head on Derek's chest, right above his heart. "Okay," he said with finality.

As Derek had imagined, Jackson nor Darren had said a word about the incident. Neither did they dare bother Stiles again.

In turn, both Derek and Stiles officially quit the lacrosse team, continuing with their own practices - that were far more fun, anyway, in Derek's opinion - and hanging out a lot more than they ever had before.

Derek went over to Stiles' house, and together they'd play video games - at which Stiles would always beat Derek's ass - and binge watch on Netflix, just for the hell of it.

One night, sitting on the couch after they had just finished watching a particularly grueling episode of The Walking Dead, Stiles suddenly spoke up.

"Thank you," he said, though he was still staring at the TV.

Derek turned to him curiously. "For what?"

Stiles turned his head to look at him. "For... everything, I guess. I'd probably still be a pathetic loser vying for impossible success if it wasn't for you."

Derek turned his head away. "I don't think you'd be a pathetic loser."

He could practically hear Stiles smiling. "Still."

"You're welcome," Derek said at last.

He was about to close Stiles' front door and leave for the night when a familiar hand touched his arm.

"Derek?"

He turned around to see Stiles standing there anxiously. "Hmm?"

Stiles seemed to struggle with his words. "I..."

Derek turned fully towards him and stared expectantly, feeling his lips quirking up slightly.

Derek was admittedly startled when Stiles' lips collided with his own. He didn't even have any time to process what was happening before Stiles backed off again.

He stared at Derek with wide, surprised eyes, then opened his mouth, but Derek didn't give him a chance to say anything before he pulled Stiles to him, smashing his lips to the younger boy's without another thought.

Stiles brought his hand to Derek's jaw while Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist.

He leaned back slightly as a random thought occurred to him. "You know that video game you were telling me about that vanished into thin air?" Derek asked breathlessly.

Stiles nudged his lips against the taller boy's, staring at him curiously. "Yeah?"

Derek kissed him again, smiling against his lips. "Well, Scott's the one who stole it," he said matter-of-factly. Probably not the most mature thing he'd ever said, but, he really just didn't like the other boy.

So why was he even thinking about him? Derek shuddered.

"I know," Stiles mumbled against his lips, before pressing in deeper.

"He sold it, too, you know. Just for some extra cash."

Stiles chuckled, nibbling at Derek's bottom lip. "I know that, too."

And, really, that didn't surprise Derek at all. Because, of course Stiles knew. That's just how Stiles was.

"You should really just drop him. He's bringing you down," Derek insisted, groaning as Stiles' tongue found his own.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and kiss me."

Derek did.