Chapter Text
Devenford Prep was obsessed with Derek Hale. He was every teen fantasy rolled into one. Rich, handsome, athletic, dark and brooding, charismatic, smart, cool hair, cool car, cool everything.
He was the bane of Stiles Stilinski’s existence.
Stiles felt like he was the only human alive who wasn’t trying to befriend, date, or “get with” Derek Hale.
When Derek Hale made the varsity basketball team their freshman year, Stiles didn’t give two shits about it.
When Derek Hale took Braeden Mercer, the most popular senior girl, to the senior prom their sophomore year, Stiles did not gawk in awe like the rest of their grade.
And their junior year, when Derek freaking Hale went viral for posting some insane trick shot basketball move, and was interviewed by ESPN AND Good Morning America, Stiles refused to even watch the damn video or check out his classmate making national news.
Now they’re seniors and news just broke that Derek Hale, god among high schoolers, would be absent from school for the rest of September and half of October due to contracting mono. And it was like the school was in mourning. Honestly.
“You’re exaggerating. No one is in mourning because Hale got mono.”
Stiles purses his lips at his best friend, Scott, who was not taking any of his ramblings seriously this morning.
“Fine. Not mourning per se… BUT everyone is obsessing over it to the fact that no one is talking about the actual tragedy occurring. Ms. Argent is leaving and no one cares. It’s her last day. She’s the best teacher here and she’s actually cool,” Stiles says, slumping against his locker, pulling at the blue and maroon striped tie of their school uniform.
Stiles found out last Friday at the end of his AP Lit class with Ms. Argent. She waited until the end of the week to announce it so students could have the weekend to process and react to it. This was her last week. Today is the end of it all. It just felt odd to Stiles. What teacher leaves after the school year has already started? What school hires mid-semester? It seemed funky to Stiles but no one else seemed bothered by it.
“Yeah, that sucks. But she also said she got a better job at some fancy private school, right? So you should be happy for her. And besides, we’ll still get to see her at the Argent Holiday parties,” Scott says and he clearly does not understand Stiles’ pain because Scott wasn’t in AP Lit and never took any of the advanced English classes and therefore never had Ms. Argent as a teacher and really only knew her because he was dating Allison Argent, her niece.
“She already had a job at a fancy private school. Don’t you think it’s weird she’s jumping ship when the school year has only just started? It’s gonna be hell with her gone, the rest of the teachers here hate me and she’ll probably be replaced with another teacher who will hate me,” Stiles bemoans, his head knocking back against the metal locker. He chooses to ignore Scott’s eye roll.
“The teachers don’t hate you- aside from Mr. Harris- you just talk a lot in class-”
“I do not!”
“You do, and you go off on tangents and you don’t give anyone space to respond and they just get annoyed or whatever.”
Stiles performatively groans in agony, catching the attention of some of their passing peers. “You’re dismissing my pain, Scotty. I’m in anguish over here! The one thing I actually liked about school was Ms. Argent and now all I have is you...”
Scott scoffs. “Ouch.”
“You know I don’t mean it like that… I love you but we barely have any classes together,” Stiles says, the school bell ringing, alerting everyone to get to class.
“I know dude, I know. It’s a travesty. The history books will write about us, never was there a story of woe like Stiles and Scott with different first periods…” Scott says theatrically, causing passing students to sneer at them.
“You mock me, but you know I’m right! Also solid Shakespeare reference, Scotty!” Stiles can’t help but grin as he says this, watching Scott’s retreating form.
“I did the summer reading!” He shoots back over his shoulder to Stiles before hustling to get to class.
Stiles can’t help but fondly roll his eyes and hike up his backpack onto his shoulder and make his trek to his first-period class.
One good thing about today though, is Derek Hale wouldn’t be around to constantly remind Stiles that perfection actually is achievable as long as you’ve been blessed by the gods like Derek.
That’s another thing. Derek and Stiles were in nearly every class together. It was some cruel trick of fate. Like some kind of chaos demon decided to curse Stiles by having his nemesis in all his classes since freshman year.
Sure, maybe it was because they were both on the honors track and took the advanced and AP courses, but so does Lydia Martin, and she’s only in half of Stiles’ classes.
Stiles decides to savor the next few Derek Hale-less weeks as best he can, despite the fact that Ms. Argent will be gone.
When he finally gets to his AP Lit class, his last class of the day, Stiles is almost in a genuinely good mood.
But then he sees Ms. Argent, writing a quote from a famous writer or book on the board for the last time. She did it every class. A new quote for each one so no one could spoil it for other students and cheat, and whoever could guess the author or book right first got a mini snickers bar.
It was silly and fun, and most students didn’t really care about the candy, but Stiles did. So did Derek Hale, unfortunately. It was always a competition to see who could answer right first. Not today though
And the rest is rust and stardust.
Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little choked up at the thought of never winning a mini snickers again after today.
The class goes on as it normally would, discussing the themes and analyzing the plot and characters of Great Expectations. But everyone, even Lydia Martin, seemed a little down that this was Ms. Argent’s last day. No one even guesses the quote, not even Stiles who knows it’s from Lolita.
Everyone files out when the final bell rings, but Stiles lingers behind, listening to his classmates say goodbye and wish their teacher good luck at her new job. Ms. Argent is sorting papers out on her desk, organizing the things that will be left behind. Probably for the sub that will take over for her on Monday until a permanent replacement is found. When his last classmate is out the door, Ms. Argent’s head pops up and she gives Stiles a small smile.
“You were unnaturally quiet today, Stiles. Should I be worried?” She asks as she steps around her desk, leaning back on the edge. She’s staring him down with a look that makes Stiles want to confess all his secrets.
“Well with Hale gone, there’s no one to argue with, so I figured I’d give my mouth the day off,” Stiles quips half-heartedly. Ms. Argent is unchanged and holds her stare. That’s something Stiles will miss. Ms. Argent was always able to see right through him.
“What? There are twelve other kids in this class, I gotta give them time to shine,” Stiles finally moves to pack up his things, trying to avoid Ms. Argent's penetrating gaze. “I mean, who am I to monopolize an entire class? It’s called character growth, Ms. Argent. Like Ebenezer Scrooge waking up on Christmas, swearing to live life as a changed man.”
Ms. Argent’s lips quirk as she sighs through her nose. “Stiles, while I appreciate the literary reference, I can tell when you’re upset,” Her voice is calm and warm as she walks over to Stiles, sitting in the seat in front of Stiles’ and facing him. “Come on, what’s wrong with my second favorite student?” She asks.
Stiles’ face twists. “Second favorite? Seriously? Allison is great and all, but she has an unfair advantage,” Stiles grumbles stubbornly. “Allison doesn’t even like this subject. She’s all about athletics. She has no appreciation for the arts.”
“Why are you so sure I mean Allison?” Ms. Argent asks, a mischievous smirk adorning her face.
“Because nepotism runs the world,” Stiles says and then frowns. Ms. Argent shakes her head fondly but doesn’t argue with Stiles’ logic. She once again looks him square in the eye with that all-knowing teacher look and Stiles is unable to resist it again.
“It’s your last day! This school is gonna suck without you here. I should just give up my scholarship and finish my high school career at Beacon Hills High, where I belong,” Stiles says. He’s always been an outsider here. Ever since he stepped foot in this ostentatious building his freshman year. Stiles was by no means poor. And he wasn’t the only scholarship student in his year. But being the son of the local Sheriff, who refused all the bribes and payoffs of the wealthy elite of Beacon Hills to get their children out of trouble, made Stiles a bit of a social pariah. He was a liability when it came to parties, and only got an invite when Lydia Martin was feeling gracious enough to share with him the locations of whatever party was being thrown. Scott was his only real friend, and Allison by proxy.
“Stiles, you’ve earned your place here fair and square,” Ms. Argent says. That’s what she always tells Stiles when he wants to leave the school. “Devenford Prep needs students like you, otherwise things get a little too ‘East Egg,’” She grimaces at that, but it doesn’t seem entirely genuine, making Stiles roll his eyes.
“Please, you’re ‘East Egg.’ The Argents are as ‘East Egg’ as you can get,” Stiles says and then shrinks back a bit at Ms. Argent’s pointed look. “Right… not the point,” Stiles admits sheepishly.
“The point is that you belong here. Don’t quit now just because of me leaving.”
“You’re right… I know you’re right… I’m just not looking forward to another teacher who’s just gonna fawn over Derek Hale,” Stiles says bitterly. “Like I get it, he’s a star athlete and a star student, but everyone here treats him like he’s the second coming. He’s an entitled jerk.”
Ms. Argent only smiles and shakes her head. “Don’t write off Derek Hale over some juvenile rivalry. He has hidden depths, trust me,” She says. And that seems like an odd thing to say in Stiles’ opinion. She is his teacher though. She’s read and graded all of Derek’s essays about the themes and analysis of classic literature. So maybe there’s something about Derek that Stiles doesn’t see.
Though even if there were, Stiles doesn’t think he’d care much. The persona that Derek Hale projects to the world every day is a piece of work, that’s for sure. Over-confident, cocky, and obnoxious. It may appeal to everyone else, but Stiles could care less.
“I’ll miss being your teacher, Stiles,” Ms. Argent says. “Don’t let this school get the better of you. It’s your senior year, you’re almost to the finish line, so finish with grace.”
Ms. Argent pats his shoulder and returns to her desk, leaving Stiles to sit there with her words. Finish with grace. He can do that. Stiles can absolutely be graceful. He gathers his things and compels his body not to stumble or trip his way out. “It’s Nabokov by the way. Lolita,” Stiles says, pausing at the door.
Ms. Argent looks up and smiles at him. “One of my favorites,” She says as she reaches into her bottom drawer and pulls out a half-full bag of mini snickers. Instead of reaching in to give Stiles one, she tosses the whole bag to him and Stiles, thankfully, catches it and doesn’t spill mini chocolates all over the floor. “Enjoy.”
“Is it really? I hated that book last year. It’s well written and all, but it’s just like… gross, the whole older man, young girl thing,” Stiles says, his face contorted in a grimace. Ms. Argent shrugs.
“Read it again when you’re older, maybe you’ll appreciate it then,” She says sagely.
Stiles thanks her for the snickers and leaves, he makes a mental note to not eat them all tonight alone in his bedroom.
“Mr. Stilinski.”
Stiles jumps out of his skin, and an undignified sound escapes him as he turns to see his guidance counselor, Ms. Morrell there. She often does this. Sneaks up on Stiles when he’s least expecting it to pull him into her office to talk about his lack of social skills and friends.
“Scott McCall can’t be your entire social life.”
That’s what she said Junior year.
“Ms. Morrell, I was actually just leaving-” Stiles starts, wanting to escape another session of her worrying for his well-being. Stiles is fine. He has his dad and Scott and Scott’s girlfriend, and sometimes Lydia Martin when she deigns to acknowledge his existence.
“I’ll be quick, I need to speak to you about an urgent matter. Privately,” She says, already strutting off down the hall towards her office, expecting Stiles to follow. Which he does, begrudgingly muttering about school being over and how he technically doesn't have to listen to her.
They pass by Jackson Whittemore holding court at his locker. The jackass is probably thriving now that his cousin, Derek Hale, is gone, leaving him to be the top dog on campus. Jackson catches Stiles’ gaze, he’s smart enough to not outrightly mock Stiles in front of a teacher, but not smart enough to come up with something better to mouth than ‘Loser.’ Stiles rolls his eyes. What a dumbass.
“I won’t keep you long,” Ms. Morrell says once they’re seated in her small office with the door closed. Stiles looks at all the familiar motivational posters on her wall, the mini zen garden she has in the corner that he’s spent many sessions combing through. It’s the same as last year. Except for the tabletop waterfall fixture that now sits on the shelf behind her desk, filling the room with the soothing sound of falling water.
“It’s all good… That’s nice,” Stiles says, pointing to the fake waterfall. Ms. Morrell gives him a tight smile.
“I have a sort of… Unconventional tutoring opportunity. A parent has contacted me asking for a private tutor to be sent to their home every day after school, for two hours. And I thought of you.”
Stiles eyebrows knit together as he takes in her words. “Okay? That doesn’t sound that ‘unconventional,’ just vague,” Stiles says.
“Well the unconventional part is that this parent has requested this tutoring be fully confidential,” Morrell clarifies.
“Confidential?”
“As in, you cannot speak of it to anyone at school. It must remain private information. The parent was very persistent on that part.”
Stiles could tell by Ms. Morrell’s tone that whoever this mystery parent was, they were not fun to deal with. Morrell is a pretty stoic person, it takes a lot to rattle her.
“Like I can’t tell anyone about it? Not even my dad or Scott?” Stiles asks. Keeping an after-school job from his dad didn’t really seem feasible.
“No, not Scott. But your father may know. I trust the Sherriff’s ability to be discrete.”
That’s better. But still. How is he supposed to keep this from Scott? Some days will be fine since Scott will be off with Allison or working at the vet’s clinic, but Scott’s not as dumb as people make him out to be. He will catch on that Stiles is lying to him.
“And the parent in question, is willing to pay a lot, more than the average tutoring fees, to keep this hush hush,” Ms. Morrell adds, and oh boy, does that get Stiles’ attention. He perks up in his seat and leans forward with interest.
“Exactly how much is ‘a lot?’” Stiles asks, trying not to get his hopes up.
“$500 a week.”
That can’t be right, Stiles thinks.
$500 a week. FIVE. HUNDRED. A. WEEK.
That absolutely cannot be correct.
“You mean like… $500 a month?” Stiles asks because that’s the only thing that makes sense to his brain right now, is that Ms. Morrell misspoke. No way would anyone pay Stiles $500 for only a mere ten hours of work per week.
“No. A week. It would only be for the next month or so.”
Stiles is smart. He can do the math. A month or so of tutoring for that amount would leave him with two grand, maybe even three grand at the end of it. That’s a lot of money. That could all be saved for college next year. That could pay for the next time his keep breaks down.
“Ms. Morrell, I know most of the student body here is the offspring of the coastal elite, but I just can’t fathom a reason why anyone would pay someone like me that much for tutoring,” Stiles says and he honestly wants to kick himself. Why is he trying to talk his way out of making $500 a week for just ten hours of work? “Who is this?”
“Do you accept?”
“What?”
“Do you accept the job?” Ms. Morrell asks again. “I can’t reveal any more details to you unless you agree to the terms. I’m under strict instruction to keep this under wraps and I do not want to deal with this parent if this gets out to the of the school.”
Okay. So he has to decide now.
“Why me?” He asks in lieu of giving an answer.
“You’re top of your class. You’re a great tutor, and you happen to be in all the classes this student needs tutoring in,” Ms. Morrell says. “You’re also one of the few students here who could actually use that money. No offense to your classmates, but to most of them, $500 is not a compelling amount of money when they have their own credit cards and trust funds.”
Boy and isn’t that a tough truth to swallow. Here Stiles is salivating after $500, and most of his peers wouldn’t even bat an eye.
“Am I really the top of the class?” Stiles asks, stalling for time before he has to answer.
Morrell let’s put a puff of breath of amusement because she’s too dignified to actually laugh.
“Technically you’re still tied with Lydia Martin, but eventually one of you will beat the other out.”
Stiles mulls it over in his head, chewing on his lower lip. He doesn’t like the idea of agreeing to something without knowing all the details. He feels like he’s in Mission Impossible and Morrell is about to hand him a file that will self-destruct the moment he’s done reading it.
But fuck. What reasonable human being without daddy’s credit card would say no to this?
“Okay. Fine. Yes. Yes, I’ll do it. It’d be stupid not to,” Stiles says, signing away his soul for the next month.
A slow smile creeps onto Morrell’s face. She looks relieved. And a little mischievous.
Stiles is already regretting this.
“I’m sorry for all the secrecy. But I’m sure once I tell you who I’ve been dealing with you’ll understand why.”
“It’s cool. So, who’s the mystery student?” He asks because Stiles has no clue who it could be. Anyone in the honors track at school doesn’t need tutoring, they’re the tutors. So it does not compute that Stiles is going to tutor another honors student.
“Derek Hale.”
“You’re joking.”
Again. Stiles is sure he needs his hearing checked. Because that is impossible. First, Derek Hale has mono and has to isolate himself from other people for the next month. And Stiles is people. Second, is the fact that Derek is smart. Stiles hates to admit it, but Derek Hale is really freaking smart and doesn’t need Stiles to tutor him. Stiles doesn’t know the ranking, but he knows Derek is in the top ten. Maybe even the top five. So there’s no way he needs tutoring.
“I’m not joking.”
Her face is dead serious. But it’s gotta be part of the bit.
“You are. Derek Hale is in quarantine. He’s an invalid, he has mono,” Stiles says incredulously. His hands clenched on the armrests of his chair.
“Derek does not have mono,” Morrell says evenly and slowly as if she were speaking to a kindergartener. “His mother pulled him out of School temporarily for some reason unbeknownst to me and the school. We tried asking Talia, but if you’ve ever met Mrs.Hale, you know she does not budge. And as our largest donor, we weren’t in the position to press for details.”
The infamous Talia Hale. She’s the most powerful person in Beacon Hills. She’s cold, intimidating, and she always has her way. Stiles’ dad hates dealing with her. Of course, she’d be the one person to concoct the insane idea of a secret tutor.
“You can’t speak of this to anyone. Anything Derek tells you remains between the two of you only. If whatever is going on with the family gets out to the rest of this school, she’ll… well, I can only imagine what she’ll do.”
This. Is. Bonkers.
How is Stiles involved in some bizarro Hale Family conspiracy? Why is he even having this conversation with his guidance counselor right now? Morrell should be pestering him to join another club or to run for student council. Not whatever this is.
“Ms. Morrell, I promise, I will not say a word. But I don’t think I’m the right person for this. Derek hates me. I hate him. We hate each other. We’re the Capulets and Montagues. This will only end in blood.”
Morrell is not impressed with Stiles' literary analogy. She raises one neatly plucked brow at him and leans back in her chair.
“Consider this an opportunity for growth then. Besides, it’s only for a month, six weeks maximum.”
Only a month of torture. Six weeks of hell at max.
But at the end of it, Stiles would be at least $2000 richer.
He agrees and Morrell sends him on his way. She tells him she’ll have a packet of Derek’s school materials ready for him to take to the Hale household on Monday and that he’ll be paid at the end of each week in cash.
Now he just has to find a way to tell his dad, and a halfway decent lie to tell Scott.
He has time though. His dad is working the evening shift and Friday nights are Scott and Allison’s standing date night. So he wouldn’t see either of them until Saturday.
Meaning with Stiles’ entire social life busy, he was on his own.
He could text Lydia and see if she’ll take pity on him and clue him into whatever’s going on. But Stiles doesn’t feel like partying, he rarely does. And he definitely doesn't want to hang out with the likes of Jackson Whittemore. He doesn’t want to hang out with most people at Devenford and they don’t want him around either.
Even the other scholarship students give him a wide berth.
Stiles takes refuge in his bedroom. He plays his music a little too loud since his dad isn’t there to tell him to turn it down, sheds his uniform in favor of putting on an old sweater and sweatpants, and gets a head start on his homework.
He’s technically already ahead with most of his classes, so it ends up not being enough to occupy his evening.
The bag of mini snickers in his backpack is a siren call. He makes one attempt to resist them before he’s diving into his backpack to retrieve them.
He eats the whole bag of mini snickers in one sitting. He hasn’t even found something to watch on Netflix by the time the bag is empty.
Ms. Morrell is right. Stiles needs to branch out.
This definitely doesn’t count as finishing with grace. Ms. Argent would be ashamed.
Stiles’ dad is oddly quiet when he tells him Saturday morning about the tutoring gig.
“It’s weird, right? Who pretends their kid has mono and hires secret tutors,” Stiles is trying to goad his dad into a more typical reaction. Normally when anything related to Talia Hale is brought up, his dad gets super irritated and gets this sour look on his face that always makes Stiles laugh, because his dad is usually really good at maintaining his poker face.
The sheriff greatly dislikes Talia Hale. Back when Laura was a teenager, she was a bit of a wild child. Stiles’ dad caught her doing all sorts of illicit and illegal activities. Sometimes, the sheriff would turn a blind eye and let Laura off with a warning. He’s not a heartless man, and everyone knew Laura was acting out because her father had suddenly passed from an aneurysm. But there are only so many times Stiles’ dad could look the other way. Especially when Laura started driving while intoxicated. Talia tried to throw a lot of money at the sheriff to make it go away. She used all her intimidation techniques, she pulled all her donations to the department, but the sheriff wouldn’t budge.
Stiles had heard through the rumor mill that Talia eventually was able to get the charges expunged from Laura’s permanent record, but she had to go way above the sheriff’s jurisdiction and it cost a whole lot more than it would’ve had Stiles’ dad taken her bribes. Now the two despise each other.
“It’s unconventional, I’ll say that.”
That’s the same word Morrell used. Unconventional. Stiles gets this inkling suspicion that his dad might know something.
“It’ll be a good use of your time. Now you don’t need to find a part-time job, and I think you’ll be a good influence on Derek Hale.”
Stiles laughs. “Me? He’s the golden boy of Beacon Hills. Mr. Perfect himself, and I’m going to be the good influence?”
“People have layers, there’s more than meets the eye…” His dad is clearly struggling to find the right thing to say. He’s usually not one for cliches, yet here he is, spouting them left and right.
“Right. Yeah. So Mrs. Hale has layers?” Stiles asks. He’s goading his dad again. His father is pretty forthcoming about most things.
“I have work,” The sheriff announces, evading the question, bussing his dishes to the sink.
“It’s your day off,” His father isn’t even in uniform.
“It was my day off, but Connolly’s wife went into labor this morning, so I’m covering. Got the call before you came down for breakfast.”
The dishes clink in the sink and Stiles hears the sink running to rinse them off. Surely there’s someone else who could’ve covered for Connolly. Stiles’ dad is maybe too nice as a boss sometimes. He’s constantly working and covering shifts. Stiles hardly sees him anymore.
“You and Scott gonna hang?”
“Ugh, don’t say hang, no one says hang, Dad,” Stiles busses his own plate, piling it on top of his dad’s in the sink. “And yeah. Also, Ms. Morrell was super serious about me not telling anyone about the whole tutoring thing so…”
“So not a word to Scott. Got it,” The sheriff reaches out and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder. “I gotta get ready, but let’s get pizza tonight for dinner, yeah?”
“Yeah, but no meat lovers. We’re getting veggie. And a side salad.”
“If there are veggies on the pizza that counts as a salad,” His dad calls out over his shoulder, disappearing down the hall to go change.
Stiles is on the couch, sipping his second coffee on the dad when his dad leaves, a freshly pressed uniform on, and he’s out the door. Stiles thankfully doesn’t have to dwell on the fact that his dad would rather work on his day off than spend it at home with Stiles, because Scott, his savior, texts him.
Scott: Allison’s really upset about her aunt leaving today. I know I totally suck, but will you forgive me if I flake on you today to be with her?? I would owe you BIG TIME
Me: Totally. Go be a good boyfriend. You can make it up to me next weekend. Big movie marathon. I pick the movies.
Scott: You got it, dude. I’ll buy all the snacks too. THANK YOU!! For real.
Me: You’re on. Tell Allison I say hi
Scott: I will! And hey, now you can hang more with your dad today! It’s his day off, right?
Me: Don’t say hang. I told my dad we don’t say hang anymore.
Me: And yeah, he’s already sick of me. Lots of father/son bonding will be had today
It’s like the universe is telling Stiles he’s pathetic. He knows if he had told Scott no, I need to spend time with you today because I’m lonely and my dad is always working and you’re my only friend. I really really need you, Scott would drop everything to be there for him. Because that’s the kinda friend Scott is. The problem is that Stiles is the kind of friend who won’t let Scott be there for him because as far as anyone’s concerned, Stiles is fine. Always fine.
There is one thing Stiles can do on a Saturday morning by himself.
Stiles gets ready for the day and heads to The Roast. It’s a local coffee shop in town, and it has the best coffee and fresh pastries. Way better than any of the three Starbucks in Beacon Hills.
There’s also a really cute barista at the Roast that Stiles may or may not have been crushing on since he started going there regularly his freshman year.
Stiles frequently goes there to pretend to do his homework or pretend to read, but in actuality, he’s staring at Elliot. That’s the barista’s name. Elliot. It’s a really good name.
Elliot takes his order and offers him the same toothy smile he always gives Stiles when he comes to The Roast. Stiles doesn’t even have to list off his specifications for the order anymore, Elliot has it memorized. Maybe he’s just really good at his job, or maybe he just happens to like Stiles too, and memorizing his coffee order is like some kind of barista love language.
“We have a fresh batch of apricot scones today. It’s a new recipe. You’ll love it,” Elliot says, his dark eyes sparkling. His light brown hair is curlier today and looks extra soft. Stiles wonders if he’s got a new hair routine.
“Here, on the house,” Elliot says, sliding an apricot scone on a small plate across the counter along with Stiles’ coffee order. “Let me know what you think.”
“Yeah-Yes. I will. I’ll give you a full rundown on how crumbly it is if it’s too sweet or has a soggy bottom…” Soggy bottom? Someone shoot him. Now, please.
Elliot doesn’t seem weirded out. He actually laughs! Or chuckles at least. He makes an amused sound. “I watch Great British Bale Off too,” He says.
“Oh good… it’s great.” Someone stop him. This is why Scott should be here. Scott would’ve pulled Stiles away to sit at a table by now. “Thanks,” Stiles chirps out, taking his coffee and the scone and high tails it to his usual table.
This is why he’s a virgin and can’t get a boyfriend. He gets too tongue-tied and makes an ass of himself. It’s been over three years since he met Elliot and he’s still never had a conversation with the guy outside of this coffee shop.
He tries to read and tries to bust himself on his laptop. Elliot says hi to him when he comes to bus a nearby table and Stiles tries to start a conversation but it’s too busy and it’s a little loud in here today.
When Stiles leaves, he brings his empty coffee cup and plate to the counter, he doesn’t like to leave it at the table for the baristas to clean. Elliot smiles that bright, toothy smile, and his cheeks dimple, and he looks right at Stiles with those dark, soulful eyes. “How was it?”
“Huh?” Stiles is lost in his eyes and doesn’t even register the question.
“The scone. How was it? No soggy bottom, right?”
Oh. The scone.
“Perfect. It was perfect, like you- you and all the Roast employees. You make everything so perfectly. Better than Starbucks,” Smooth Stiles. Very smooth. Elliot laughs, shaking his head, making his curls shake a little.
“I’ll catch you next time,” He says and Stiles takes that as his clue to leave.
“Only if you’re fast enough!” Stiles says, walking backward toward the door. Elliot’s eyebrows crinkle.
“What?”
Stiles stumbles, only a little!
“To catch me. You gotta be fast. To… catch me.”
Stiles doesn’t wait for a response. He leaves. Full-on retreats. He shouldn’t show his face here ever again. But he will. Because Stiles is pathetic. At least Scott wasn’t there to witness this.
The rest of the weekend ended up being uneventful. Which isn’t new. His dad managed to convince Stiles to put one meat topping on the veggie pizza, and Sunday was just laundry and studying. No tests are coming up this week, but Harris always likes to throw in a surprise pop quiz when they’re least expecting it, and AP Chem has been normal recently, so Stiles suspects Harris is going to throw a pop quiz at them.
Harris does give them a pop quiz on Monday because he’s horrible and horribly predictable. Stiles aces it and he’s sure Harris is seething.
Allison tells him about the goodbye dinner she had with her aunt Friday night. Ms. Argent had a morning flight on Saturday to Connecticut. Allison also tells him and Scott about the new school. It’s some prestigious all-girls school, Allison says her aunt didn’t seem that excited.
“She’s just going to miss you and Beacon Hills, that’s all,” Scott says in assurance.
Ms. Argent’s position is already filled, so her replacement is already there Monday. She seems nice enough. She’s pretty young so this might be her first year teaching. Her name is Ms. Blake and she makes them all do get-to-know-you activities even though they all already know each other. But her efforts are somewhat appreciated.
At the end of the day, Stiles meets up with Ms. Morrell and she gives him a folder with all of Derek’s homework for the upcoming week, all of it organized by the day of the week and subject. She once again reiterates how important it is that Stiles keep this a secret and offers some vague threat about what Mrs. Hale might do to her and the school if he blabs. It sufficiently guilts Stiles.
She gives Stiles the Hales’ address as well and this is all starting to feel very real. He knows all about the Hales’ fancy mansion in the woods, but Stiles has never been there. Now he’s going to be there every day after school for a month. Or more.
“What did Ms. Morrell want?”
Stiles jerks around in surprise, he was getting his things at his locker ready to leave. Scott’s standing there with a curious look on his face. He must’ve seen Stiles come out of the counseling center.
“She’s asking me to tutor again this year. I guess numbers are low for peer tutoring, so she asked me.”
Okay. Not an outright terrible or unbelievable lie.
“Cool, you gonna do it?” Scott asks. This is too easy. It’s basically the truth anyway! It’s like he doesn’t even have to technically lie to Scott at all.
“Yeah, I am. It’s easy money, right?”
“Totally. Hey, I gotta get to the clinic or Deaton will definitely fire me. Text later?”
Stiles laughs. “I will. Go clean up cat pee or whatever it is you do.”
They say goodbye and Stiles lets Scott have a head start on his bike. He doesn’t want to chance Scott seeing Stiles driving in the opposite direction of his house.
School’s out at 3:00 and he’s expected at the Hale house at 3:30. It’s 3:05 right now. That’s enough time.
Like everyone in Beacon Hills, Stiles is somewhat familiar with the Hales’ secluded mansion. The land has been in the family for generations. And up until Stiles was in sixth grade, the original manor was still up in pristine condition. It sadly burnt down that year, due to some faulty wiring. It was an old house with old wiring with new electronics. Stiles remembers what the house looked like because the local paper had a whole spread about it, with all kinds of old pictures. It was a beautiful place.
It’s been rebuilt since the fire, but Stiles has no clue what it looks like now. Stiles has heard that it’s bigger, and a little more modern, but apparently the east wing of the original house survived the fire and is still in perfect condition, connected to the new house.
When Stiles pulls up the long stone driveway, there are trees everywhere, providing even more privacy. It’s probably pretty spooky here at night. No other houses around, just the preserve. Stiles feels like the heroin of some Victorian gothic horror novel. The young, naive governess arrives at the secluded manor to tend to creepy ghost children inside. Meanwhile, a vampire or a werewolf is lurking the grounds and causing havoc.
The house is even bigger than Stiles was expecting when it comes into view from behind the trees. It’s tall. And wide. And there are all these intricate details. Stiles can see the original east wing and how the new parts of the house were designed to emulate its style, but it was sleeker and a little more simple. There’s an honest to god his fountain in the center of the driveway. It’s one of those fancy driveways that loops into a circle so you don’t have to back out or do a U-turn. There’s also a four-car garage, all of the doors closed and the windows on top are dark. Stiles parks in front of the fountain, and figures that’s fine, there was no further instruction from Ms. Morrell about where to park.
“Okay. You can do this. Just… go inside that ridiculous mansion, tutor Derek freaking Hale and get out,” Stiles mutters to himself. He needs encouragement, okay? Normally that’s Scott’s department m, but Scott can’t know he’s here.
So up the steps he goes, like a fish that doesn’t know being out of the water is bad for it. The front door, or doors, are massive and tall, with all this pretty stained glass decorating. Stiles recognizes it from the photos in the paper. He wonders if they were salvaged and restored from the original house or replicated by an expert craftsman?
Stiles presses his bony finger to the doorbell, and a cacophony of bells ring out to the tune of some classical aria Stiles doesn’t know.
It’s not a long wait for one of the doors to open up, revealing an older woman in a maid’s uniform. She smiles warmly at Stiles and welcomes him in before even asking who he is.
“You must be the tutor,” She says, she has some kind of accent. Stiles thinks it might be German. He nods at her assumption and carefully wipes his shoes off on the mat.
“Yeah, um I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski,” He holds his hand out for her to shake, which she does, very firmly. “Should I take my shoes off?” He asks self-consciously.
“No, no. Derek is outside by the pool so there’s no need,” She says and guides him further into the house.
Stiles feels as if he’s stepped into some interior design magazine, everything is perfectly styled and compliments each other. It’s a fitting mix of new and old. And it all looks expensive.
Note to self, don’t touch anything Stiles thinks as he follows the maid through the home. They pass a lavish living room and Stiles cranes his neck to get a better look as they pass it. It doesn’t look lived in at all. It looks staged. There’s a goddamn grand piano and a large ornate fireplace with a gold vase.
They arrive at the fanciest kitchen Stiles has ever seen in his life, and Stiles has seen both Lydia Martin’s and the Argents’ kitchens. There's a wall of windows, letting in tons of natural light and a beautiful view of the background and surrounding trees of the preserve. The maid opens a white French door and gestures for him to walk out.
And there Derek Hale is, in all his glory, basking in the sun. Well, not really. He’s actually seated on some patio furniture that likely costs more than Stiles’ house, protected under the shade of an umbrella. He’s got a black long-sleeve shirt on, despite it being over 80 degrees, and dark sunglasses on. He looks like an angsty, broody teen heartthrob cliche. He’s even reading.
Jesus Christ.
Stiles turns to the maid and thanks her. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Greta. I’m here if you need anything,” She says and Stiles thinks she genuinely means it. He walks out into the backyard and admires the large pool. He wants to jump right in right now. It’s hot out. The fall weather has yet to start in Beacon Hills, so it still feels like summer even though it’s mid-September. He’s going to have to take his blazer off if Derek’s going to insist on staying out here.
Stiles approaches Derek’s spot, and he’s waiting for the other boy to look up and realize he’s here, but Derek is focused on his book.
Or maybe Derek did see him and is ignoring Stiles. That could be the case, Derek’s sunglasses are awfully dark. Stiles isn’t sure how he’s able to read with them on while in the shade.
“Wow, you’re certainly at death’s door. Tell me, how do you manage to relax poolside in your condition?” Stiles gripes, dropping his backpack onto the patio table with a heavy thud.
Derek barely reacts. He slowly raises his head up and it’s the only way Stiles can tell he’s looking at him.
“My mother sure has a sick sense of humor,” He says and then he goes back to reading his book. “What are you even yapping about?”
“You have mono, haven’t you heard? Well, that’s what everyone at school has been told,” Stiles says. He has remained standing, looking down at Derek with his arms crossed.
“Actually I have no idea what web of lies my mother has spun this time. No phone.”
Stiles scoffs. “Poor little rich boy. How will he ever go on without a phone? I guess he’ll just have to live in the lap of luxury and not post it on Tik Tok.”
Derek looks up at him again, sneering. “Is my mother paying you to be a little bitch or are you doing that for free?”
“Little bitch? Maybe you really are sick, Hale. Because that was weak.”
Derek tosses the book onto the table, not even bothering to save his spot. He takes off his sunglasses and stares directly at Stiles. His intense, pale eyes scrutinize every aspect of Stiles.
Stiles has never been the sole target of Derek Hale’s gaze before. They’ve glared at each other in passing before, or whenever they make barbs at each other, but Derek has never full-on stared at Stiles. The weight of Derek’s gaze makes him tense and fidget. Stiles is the one who has to break eye contact by turning his head and clearing his throat. “Okay, let’s just start over,” Stiles says, shaking the tension out of his hands. “Fresh start,” He grabs his backpack and turns in a circle until he’s facing Derek again.
“Hey, I’m here to tutor you, dickhead,” Stiles says, a fake smile plastered on his face.
Derek is unchanged. He continues to stare at Stiles for several long and agonizing seconds. The chair Stiles is closest to, across from Derek abruptly scrapes across the stone ground beneath them, making Stiles flinch. He realizes that Derek has pushed the chair out with his foot under the table.
Stiles looks at the chair and then back at Derek and then back at the chair.
“Sit, Stilinski,” Derek. He sounds tired.
Stiles purses his lips. He says nothing and sits down and digs out the thick folder Morrell gave him with all of Derek’s work for the week. “So, where do you want to st-”
Derek interrupts him by snatching the folder out of Stiles’ hand. “It was my mother’s idea to hire a tutor. We both know I don’t need one. So here’s what we’re going to do,” Derek flips open the folder and starts looking through the homework. “You’re going to sit there, silently, doing whatever the fuck it is you want to do, and I’ll do this on my own. Greta will see that we’re working and report back to my mom that the tutoring is happening, you get your money, and we don’t have to speak.”
Stiles just blinks at him slowly. What the fuck is the point of any of this? Fine. Whatever. If Derek wants to waste both their time and his mother’s money, that’s his own prerogative. As long as Stiles is getting paid, he’ll go along with it.
Stiles sees Derek pull some textbooks out of a backpack that he didn’t realize was there under his chair. Stiles starts getting his own homework out. Tomorrow he’ll have to bring his laptop or something. It’s going to be a long two hours.
Stiles takes off his blazer and rolls his sleeves up. It’s hot as balls today and the shade from the trees and umbrella can only do so much. He tries to get started on his readings for his history class, but the pool keeps drawing his attention.
God, it would feel so good to jump in there right now. Stiles doesn’t know how Derek can stand being out here with his long sleeves. There he is, just sitting there, working on a reflection for advanced lit. Stiles wonders if Derek knows Ms. Argent is gone. He was absent when she made her announcement that she was leaving and hadn’t been to school since.
Stiles huffs out a sigh and loosens his tie. He checks his phone and sees that it’s only a few minutes past 4:00. Fuck. Why is time moving so slowly??
Stiles has trouble focusing in general, so working outside in the heat, with his mortal enemy sitting across from and it’s painfully quiet? It’s pretty much impossible.
Greta, thankfully, comes to offer them a distraction by bringing out a tray with snacks and cold lemonade. Jesus. Some people actually live like this?
“I hope this is okay,” Greta says, smiling warmly at Stiles. “I brought an array of things, but if you ever want something specific, just let me know and I can add it to my shopping list.”
Greta is an angel. How can she stand working for the Hales? That’s what Stiles wants to know.
“This all looks great, thank you. I’m not picky,” Stiles says, smiling politely back.
Greta places a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezes. “I’m making your favorite for dinner, so don’t fill up too much.”
“I won’t, thanks, Greta.”
She leaves them to their work and Stiles waits until he hears the French door close before looking at Derek.
“How are you not hot right now?” Stiles asks. He can feel the sweat beads dripping down his back right now, and he’s sure his face is flushed too. Stiles grabs one of the lemonades and gulps a third of it down. It’s also the best lemonade he’s ever had in his entire life.
“I know many people that would disagree with that.”
“Ha ha. Don’t be cute.”
“You think I’m cute?”
Stiles goes red. Or redder. He rolls his eyes and clucks his tongue.
“You know what? Never mind,” Stiles turns back to his homework, but he hears Derek make a smug, self-satisfied sound. Jerk.
The rest of the session is done in silence. They do their work, they eat Greta’s snacks, and at 5:30 the alarm Stiles set on his phone goes off, alerting him that his brief trip to hell is over for the day.
“Great work today. Learned a lot. Made a lot of progress,” Stiles rattled off, packing up his backpack. “See you tomorrow,” he says, not expecting any kind of response from Derek in return.
“Was the alarm really necessary?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yes. Because I refuse to spend a minute more than I have to in this lavish pit of hell.”
“Try living in it,” Derek mutters under his breath, but Stiles hears it all the same. Derek pointedly looks back down at his work and Stiles takes that as his cue to leave.
He heads back to the same French doors he came from, and he can smell something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Greta is there stirring something in a pot and greets him with a smile. “I’ll show you out,” she says, guiding Stiles back through the house towards the front door.
“How did it go today?” She asks.
“Oh uh, it went great. Derek is really smart,” Stiles says, his jaw clenched as he forced himself to say something nice about Derek.
“And how was Derek? Did he seem…” Greta looks worried. “Did he seem alright?”
Stiles hesitates. He’s not sure how to interpret this question. He can tell that Greta is genuinely concerned, but he has no idea why? Obviously, something is going on with him and his family, Stiles already knew that, but maybe it’s really serious. Like actually serious and not just a dumb rich family overreacting about something.
“Uhm, he seemed like his usual self I guess?” It’s technically true. “Though I don’t know how he can just sit out in that heat.”
Greta offers him a reserved smile. She’s clearly not convinced by his answer. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Stiles thanks her again as well and then he’s back in his keep, blasting the air.
He has no clue what Derek’s hiding or why he’s being hidden away like it’s the Secret Garden. But Stiles is curious. Really fucking curious.