Stiles headed to the L.A. downtown. His head was swimming in a pool of swirling thoughts. They were those kinds that couldn't be worded in a language, or any language, but can only be labelled as primitive instincts. Lust, for example. No. Scratch that. Where did that even come from? Confusion, Stiles finally found, was a better description.

Nightfall was dark and thick. The road was busy but tolerable. Tall streetlights rushed towards him as if to collide into his Jeep, like kamikaze fireflies, then twisted their path and gracefully disappeared into darkness behind him.

And here he is, standing before the door. He couldn't remember how he got to Howlers' Grand. It was still early to have a bar bustling with people, but the place seemed decent enough. A bunch of college students gushed into the venue, laughing and yelling nonsense. Stiles got pushed in with them.

Three bartenders were tending patrons and serving drinks. Stiles tried his best to act cool, or let's say socially un-awkward. He walked towards the bar and sat on a stool.

Derek instantly jerked his head up from the three shots he was making.

"Hey," Stiles greeted.

"Hey," Derek answered, surprise evident in his voice. "So it really is that urgent."

"Oh, well, actually, not really, but since I didn't want to impose on strangers I barely know – " Stiles wanted to smack himself. Rambling is so not cool. And it made no sense. "and I gotta find a new place, really."

"So the hotel wasn't you liking, then." Derek chuckled.

"Oh my god, it was the worst. The most horrid place ever existed on the face of the earth. The curtain had stains that look like dying cats and the hallway is so full of porn makers and there were straight guys and prostitutes everywhere – "

It didn't take long for Stiles to realise Derek's stare. He managed to shut up.

"Um, sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly. I'm Stiles Stilinski." Stiles offered his hand.

"Dere – "

"Derek!" A boy ran into the bar, almost slamming Stiles off the stool. Derek rolled his eyes. Well, that conversation went very well, Stiles thought awkwardly.

"I am not giving you another drink, Scott. Go home." Derek said coldly at the whining boy. He didn't look too drunk, but he certainly wasn't legal. He looked 18, or 19, top. And another thing was that he looked strangely familiar to Stiles.

"Oh, come on, Derek. Just one more! I barely had any– " He slumped over the bar. Stiles moved away from the boy, feeling uncomfortable. And little bit curious. Then Scott started to sob. "I'm no fine, Derekk- Aallisson has left – "

Derek frowned. He waved his hand at Stiles, indicating to move away.

"Deeereekkk – "

"Shut up, Scott. I said no more. If Peter gets to know about this it's me who's gonna get fucked up, not you."

"But," Scott raised his body, protesting.

Stiles knew his face. That stupid, goofy face was more than familiar.

"Wait. Scott? Scott McCall?"

Scott turned to Stiles, as if he just realised there was someone next to him. He frowned.

"Do I know you?"

"Oh my god! It's you!" Stiles screamed. He gave the biggest hug he could to the perplexed boy. Derek just didn't know where they were going. "It's me! Stiles! Stiles Stilinski?"

Scott stared at Stiles for a full minute. His jaw was starting to drop.

"NO WAY!"

"Yes, man! Holy shit, dude! I haven't seen you for ages – "

Before Derek could say anything, Stiles was being dragged to Scott's booth. When later Erica brought orders from their table, Derek gave her three bottles of beer without further words.

Scott McCall was Stiles' best friend, until his family move to L.A. That was four years ago. They used to do all sorts of stupid and childish teenage things in their elementary and junior high. Stiles tried to keep in touch with him, but they gradually grew apart from each other. It turned out that Scott has (or had) a girlfriend who is the national champion in archery. And it is her departure for an overseas training program that brought Scott here tonight.

"Man, don't worry. Skype her. It's not like Korea doesn't have any internet?" Stiles said. "Though that actually depends on which Korea she is going. South, yeah?"

"But it's three months! I can't do this, Stiles. I can't."

"Jesus, stop being so pathetic, man. It's not like she's not coming back. I'm the one who's fucked."

"What? Why? Did Lydia leave too?"

"How do you remember Lydia?"

"Oh come on, dude. You practically worshiped her."

"Well. Not technically, because we were never together, and partly yeah, because she's in Princeton. But that's not a problem."

"Then what is it?" Scott asked as he glopped his beer down.

For a second, Stiles hesitated. It was certainly embarrassing to speak of the dumbest thing he's done in entire life; signing a rend contract and paying a lump sum of deposit without investigating the property, but his desperation would outlive his embarrassment. Besides, he didn't need to explain what happened to him in detail. The point was that he needed somewhere to stay.

"I need to find a room to share. Really bad." Stiles said.

"Man, too bad." Said a blonde boy, popping out of a crowd gathered around the pool table and pushing Scott into the booth as he squeezed himself in it. "I got Scotty's room last Monday."

"Hey, champ." Scott swung his arm around him and laughed. "Stiles, Isaac. Isaac, Stiles. He's my best friend from Beacon Hills."

"Wha- I thought I was your best friend!" Isaac yelled.

"Sharing is caring." Stiles said.

"Listen, I understand you want a room, but I really don't recommend living with this guy. Especially when his love of life is gone to Korea. By the way which one was it, again? Not North, yeah?"

"Shut up! She's not gone. She'll be back." Scott said, sulking.

Stiles laughed and gulped his drink.

"Then can you do me a huge favour and ask around? I really need to get settled before the college starts. Which is this Monday."

"Well today's Saturday." Scott said.

"Exactly my point, champs."

"I don't know if he's looking for a roommate," Isaac intervened, directing the bar with his bottle and raised eyebrows. "But he's got a spare room."

It unnerved Stiles, really, because he had a bad feeling that he already knew whom Isaac was referring to. But just to be polite he asked anyways.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Isaac nodded. "See that guy? That brooding one. He's Derek Hale. He looked pretty intimidating but he's actually a big softy. Ask him."

A number of reasons to refuse the offer tumbled into his mind, but Stiles had to admit that they were all lame. And he could absolutely not say no because Derek smells like his dog. It was a new life, this whole college thing, and he must not ruin it before it even starts.

"Uh, thanks."

"Do you want me to ask him? You probably don't know him yet – Derek!"

Isaac bolted out before Stiles could grab him. He turned to Scott, who was sprawled on the table and mumbling something sounded like 'Alyson'. He crawled out of the booth, too, after Isaac. Isaac was already at the bar, leaning on the table as a drunk teenager would. Stiles realised that he was not walking straight. He cursed his wobbling legs and spinning vision.

"-diots." Stiles heard Derek cursing under his breath when he reached the bar. Isaac was grinning silly like a bobcat, and Derek looked around the almost empty bar. "You're drunk. Who gets drunk on beer, seriously?"

Completely disregarding Derek, Isaac went on; "Have you met Stiles? He needs a room!"

"No, actually, I'm-" Stiles tried to say something, but he was shushed by Derek's furious brows.

"And you need to go home. Where's Scott?"

"Oh come on- don't be a party pooper!" Isaac whined.

A heavy sigh escaped Derek's lips. His lips. Stiles almost bit his tongue when he realised he was looking at Derek's lips. He blamed it on alcohol.

"Stay right there, you two." Derek said as he went inside.

Stiles decided that alcohol wasn't helping him. Not a single excuse popped in his head to avoid this situation, whatever this situation was.

Several minutes later Derek came out of the 'staff only' door. Judging by the leather jacket on him, he was off work. His expression was pure irritation, but he was nowhere close to anger. It must be a regular thing for him, Stiles thought, as he followed Isaac who was being dragged to the booth where Scott was sleeping.

"Use your legs, dammit." Derek cursed as he lifted Scott up. He literally put Scott like a potato sack on his shoulder and held Isaac on the other arm. Knowing nothing better to do, Stiles simply followed him outside.

They went around the building and got to the employee parking area. Stiles helped holding Isaac who was constantly slipping out of Derek's grip. When they got to Derek's car – the gorgeous black thing, with slender yet built body – Isaac and Scott were shoved into the passenger seats.

"Thanks." Derek said as he closed the door.

"'s fine." Stiles slurred. "Uh, umm, then I'd better be off."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To my car?"

Derek made a noise which was nothing more than a scowl. He opened his front passenger seat, and pointed it with his chin.

"Get in. You're not driving blind like that."

"I'm not gonna- I'll just sleep in my Jeep." Stiles protested lamely. It only made Derek more annoyed, clearly, because the next thing he knows is that he is being shoved into the car just like Isaac and Scott.

"Your stubbornness, Stiles, is really fucking unbelievable." Derek muttered. Or rather, Stiles thinks he hears Derek muttering so when he feels the bartender puts the seatbelt on him. It was not clear. He just sits there, disorientated, and drifts into sleep.

He feels the car stopping once, and hears Derek dragging two boys out of the car and kicking them into their apartment. That's what he thinks he hears, at least. Then the car resumes moving.

Stiles wakes up, in the next morning, in a room full of boxes and soft sunlight of ripe morning. No more fake moans, no more uncomfortable smells. He jumps out of the bed when he reads his name on the box and sees Derek's face in one of the photos on the night table.