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The road trip to New York was Stiles’s idea. Derek was only in Beacon Hills to visit the pack for a week or so in June for their graduation but ended up extending the trip at everyone’s insistence.
“It’s not like you have any other commitments in New York,” Scott reminded Derek, rolling his eyes. Derek opened his mouth to reply but Stiles clutched his heart and gasped dramatically.
“You don’t have other friends, do you?” Stiles asked, eyes wide.
Derek cuffed him upside the head and agreed to stay.
When he tried to make a fuss about penalties for last-minute ticket changes, Stiles rolled his eyes and pointed out that millionaires should stop whining about losing a couple hundred bucks.
“Tell you what,” Stiles started. “You and I can do a road trip back to New York. I’ll make it up to you.”
Derek wrinkled his nose at Stiles. “How’s being stuck in a car with you for five days you making it up to me?”
“I’m a delight,” Stiles sniffed.
“Sure - in small doses,” Derek said around a smirk. This time, it was Stiles who cuffed him on the head, shrieking when Derek immediately jumped up and chased him all the way to the water, winding his arm around Stiles’s waist and throwing both of them in the water amidst the raucous screams and laughter.
A week later, they were all packed up. Stiles hugged his dad tightly, reminding him to eat his veggies and said his goodbyes to Scott, Melissa, and the rest of the pack and they were off. The trip wasn’t supposed to take more than four days if they drove straight to New York but they made several unplanned stops on the way.
(“There’s nothing in Nebraska, Stiles. It’s Nebraska,” Derek rolls his eyes but takes the exit anyways.
Stiles vibrates in his seat, grinning widely. “There’s an air and space museum, Derek! Cheer up, buck-o, it’s kite flying day!”
Derek rolls his eyes fondly and pulls into the museum parking lot. He’ll deny it to his dying day but Stiles was right; flying kites was really fun.)
After Nebraska, it was Iowa, which Derek absolutely refused to stop in—
(“ It’s Iowa, Stiles, there’s nothing but potatoes here!”
“That’s Idaho, dumbass!”
A beat of silence and then, “Shut up.”)
—and then Illinois. They’d decided to spend a day or two in Chicago and as much as Stiles had pleaded for them to try and see if the musical Chicago was playing—
(“Come on! Seeing Chicago in Chicago! How awesome is that!” Stiles crows.
Derek huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “A total hoot, clearly,” he says flatly. “But the show’s sold out so…”
“You just want to go to the zoo and become one with the wolves.” Stiles narrows his eyes at him, not missing the faint reddening of Derek’s ears. “I fucking knew it.”
“They have red wolves, Stiles,” Derek opts to say instead in a dismissive tone. “Red wolves aren’t even all that special.”
Stiles glares at him, folding his arms over his chest. “Don’t speak like that, Derek. Those are your cousins you’re talking shit about.”
Derek growls. “You got the stupid kite flying thing in Nebraska, I get the zoo, Stiles. Buck up,” he mocked, getting out of the car and walking towards the Lincoln Park Zoo. Stiles stumbles out, locking the car behind him.
“Alright, but I’ll have you know we’re staying an extra day and going to Wrigley Field tomorrow!”
Derek smiles and wisely doesn’t tell Stiles that he was planning on taking them there anyways.)
—and before they knew it, they were crossing over into New York.
Stiles tries to ignore the burn in his chest at the thought of leaving Derek again, one that kept Stiles up late into the morning hours whenever they’d stopped for the night.
-
Derek took off back to New York shortly after dropping Cora off in South America, not even bothering to come back to Beacon Hills to tell the pack. Just sent a text to Scott asking him to take care of the loft and let him know if they needed anything.
Stiles wanted to scream and shout when Scott read the text to the pack but instead he just stared hard at the ground, ignoring the concerned glances Scott shot his way. The wave of anger that coursed through Stiles didn’t last long.
Slowly, as Stiles got busy with college applications and studying for all his AP classes, the anger faded and understanding settled in. Derek deserved to stay away from the town that nearly killed him.
Still, it took a few weeks before Stiles felt ready to text Derek and even when he did, it was short and succinct.
< Stiles, 3:30pm: I understand.
> Derek, 3:58pm: Thanks.
A week later, Stiles texted Derek with a picture of Scott drooling with Star Wars: the Force Awakens playing on the laptop screen followed by an annoyed selfie, captioned: You try and you try but some people just don’t get it.
A few minutes later, Derek replied with: Do or do not. There is no try.
After that, the dam had broke and Stiles never stopped texting Derek. Funnily enough, Derek always replied and always within a half-hour, no matter when Stiles managed to text him. They’d text for hours every day (it never occurred to Stiles to just call Derek—okay, he’s lying, it totally did but he just didn’t want to risk being hung up on) about everything from comic books to film critiques to politics to where they want to travel in the world. On nights when neither could sleep, they’d share small little stories from their childhoods that they’d locked away in the farthest corner of their minds.
But now—now, it’s almost the end of June and Stiles stupidly volunteered to drive Derek 3,000 miles back to his new home without taking a second how hard it would be to drive away from him.
He tamped down the bile that threatened to work up with all his strength and smiled at Derek when they got off the freeway and taken the road leading to the Upper West Side.
-
Stiles doesn’t miss the way Derek smiles at the familiar streets, pointing out various shops and boutiques to him. He motions to a small hole-in-the-wall place that he promises has the best Greek food in the city. The shop where Laura had her first job and had gotten yelled at that same day. The spot where a small run-down, sketchy bar once stood that Derek used to be a bouncer at but was now a hipster coffee shop.
Yeah, Stiles doesn’t miss the way Derek’s eyes light up, how he smiles even when talking about Laura, how he starts humming quietly to the top 40 song playing on the radio. Everything about Derek looks carefree and light, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he’s finally home. And really, it’s that thought that shatters Stiles more than anything.
His home will always be Beacon Hills but he knows now that that will never be true for Derek. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Derek pulling the Jeep into a decrepit parking lot and looking at him expectantly.
“What?”
“I parked. We’re getting out here,” Derek says, raising a brow at him. “Think that’s the quietest you’ve ever been.”
“Shut up, there’s just a lot to see and take in,” Stiles mutters as he gets out, stretching his body as he does so.
“City got your tongue?” Derek chuckles but Stiles just flips him off.
“Where are we anyways? Thought we were going to your place?”
“We are, but it’s Thursday,” Derek smiles at him, eyes twinkling.
“And you don’t go home on Thursdays?” Stiles asks, confused, but Derek’s already walking away so he runs to catch up.
Derek leads them through the alleyway and out into a busy street filled with street-vendors and artists and hustlers. It’s a busy street, understandable since it’s almost 9pm at night, so he tries not to lose sight of Derek even with him pressing close to Stiles.
“How do people not get lost here?” Stiles mumbles, almost jumping when he feels a large hand wrapping around his. After a bit of hesitation, Stiles shifts his hand so their fingers intertwine, heart beating loudly at the thought of Derek pulling away abruptly but that moment doesn’t come. Instead, without even looking at Stiles, Derek squeezes his hand all the while pulling Stiles behind him as they turn the street and slow to a stop in front of an old house.
It’s old, run-down, like most places in this neighbourhood but there are lots of people loitering outside, smoking, talking, drinking. Painted a dark burgundy red, the house could pass for a residential area if not for the words The Old Haunt above the entrance.
“What is this place?”
“New York’s best kept secret,” Derek answers and pulls Stiles up the small set of stairs. He flashes a smile at the bouncer who just nods at Derek like they’re buddies and lets them in.
“Woah,” Stiles breathes, looking around.
The inside is nowhere near as run-down as the outside. There’s a large bar just to the side, stocked to the brim with cheap booze and the good, expensive shit. The walls are all exposed brick, lined by what looks like a ridiculous number of fairy lights, and small tables with lone candle centrepieces, undoubtedly to ‘set the mood’. Towards the back, a dull yellow stage light shines down on a small stage surrounded by small single-seat and love-seat couches, where most of the crowd seems to be.
“This place is amazing,” Stiles whispers, mostly to himself, but it’s no surprise that Derek overhears and smirks at him as if to say, I know. “Seriously, what is this place?”
“This used to be mine and Laura’s favourite place to go,” Derek says as he steers them towards an empty love-seat couch. It’s a small one, barely big enough for two people to sit comfortably but Derek plops down and pulls Stiles down with him. With the lack of space, they end up flush together and Stiles will forever be thankful at the amount of noise around them to distract Derek from hearing how loud his heart is beating in his chest.
“An old boyfriend of hers owns it so we’d be here most nights. Eventually, I ended up being a bartender here even though I wasn’t old enough to drink the booze, much less serve it.”
“It’s a good place.”
“It’s a great place,” Derek corrects. “One of the only places we felt home.”
Stiles feels another pang in his chest at the word. “So what’s so special about Thursdays here?”
“Thursdays are open mic nights,” Derek answers, motioning to the stage. Stiles whips his head around to him.
“Please tell me you used to sing during these nights.” Derek barks out a laugh, surprising Stiles. It gets drowned by all the conversations around them but to Stiles, it’s deafening.
“I did, yeah. When I was younger, I took up guitar and eventually would play it during family events. After a while, I got comfortable enough to sing too - covers mostly but yeah. Laura loved it when I sang and played guitar and when we found out this place did open mic nights, I always went up for a song or two. It was one of the only times I saw her smile wide enough to break her face.”
“So I’m assuming that since you brought me here on a Thursday night knowingly and shared that with me, that you’ll sing a song or two? Maybe?” Stiles asks, hopeful look on his face.
Derek only smiles but Stiles knows it’s a yes.
Turns out The Old Haunt is an old speakeasy with quite the scandalous history during the Prohibition era and while it still has that same air of privacy and smokiness, it also tends to host open mic nights for the regular folks on Thursday nights.
An hour later, Stiles is swirling the straw around the leftover ice from his glass of coke. Derek left to get another drink and judging by the amount of people sitting by the bar, he’d be a while. Stiles sinks back into the old, musty couch and tries not to think about how at some point tomorrow, he’ll be leaving Derek.
A familiar cough over the speaker interrupts his thoughts and Stiles’ mouth drops open when he sees Derek seated on a stool on stage, a guitar resting on his lap. The crowd quiets once again, as it always did anytime someone was about to start performing on stage, and Derek smiles at the crowd.
“Hey, everyone,” Derek starts as he strums a few chords. “My name’s Derek. Just wanted to give thanks to Cole for lending me this beauty.” He taps the body of the guitar and his eyes find Stiles. “This is for the person who drove 3,000 miles for me—I understand.”
Something swoops in Stiles’ chest at the last two words and leans forward, drink cast aside and forgotten, eyes glued to Derek’s.
On stage, Derek starts strumming a tune not yet familiar to Stiles, or the crowd, but after a few seconds, weaves the tune of a song Stiles knows very well and from the way the crowd responds, so do they. Derek grins at the response and starts to sing—
“I had a thought dear, however scary, about that night with…,” Derek sweeps a glance at the room before snapping his gaze back to Stiles just as he sings, “ Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do. ”
A chill passes through Stiles as he feels the weight of the words and Derek’s stare on him, as though there’s a wealth of understanding Derek is trying to push on to Stiles. Throughout the whole song, Derek’s gaze never leaves his and Stiles doesn’t dare look away, doesn’t even want to. He’s overwhelmed by the honesty and rawness of Derek’s voice, the way he seems to be speaking straight to Stiles with pure unadulterated want.
As the song nears its end, Stiles feels himself getting up and moving towards the stage, with Derek’s eyes following his every move, not once breaking from the song. Stiles waits just long enough at the side of the stage for Derek to finish the last verse and no sooner have the words, “ …we could just kiss like real people do ” passed through Derek’s lips that Stiles strides on to the stage before he can stop himself and kisses Derek amidst cheers and clapping.
There’s a guitar in Stiles’s way and he has to be careful not to knock the mike stand down, but he doesn’t care any more than Derek does that he’s taking such a monumental step in front of fifty people because Derek is smiling through the kiss and holding him close and steady and near him.
Derek smells of cheap beer and nachos but kisses like he has all the time in the world, languid and slow and meaningful. Stiles slows down in response, tilting his head just enough to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth to prod at Derek’s lips with his tongue. Instead of doing the same, Derek pulls away just slightly and huffs a small laugh, breath fanning Stiles’ cheeks.
“As much as I’d love to, we should probably take it off stage,” he murmurs quietly. Stiles laughs and nods.
“Never knew I’d be okay with being an exhibitionist but good to know, hm?” he says, smiling at Derek’s rapidly darkening eyes. “But I agree, let’s take this somewhere more quiet.”
He darts in for a quick kiss before moving away, immediately disliking how cold he feels when he’s away from Derek’s warmth. The crowd is still hollering at them when Stiles leads them both off-stage and out the back door.
Undoubtedly, they make it back home in less than 30 minutes and they spend the rest of the night discovering and re-discovering parts of themselves they never knew existed.
-
When Stiles calls his dad the next morning to let him know they got in okay and he asks when Stiles plans to leave for the drive back, Stiles pauses a beat too long. He looks around, notes the way Derek’s body tenses, the way his hand hovers at the cabinet with the coffee mugs, and sighs.
“Um, about that—,” is all Stiles manages to say before his dad snorts.
“Yeah, son, I figured. Have a good summer, son, and Derek, I know you’re listening so I expect you to make sure my boy stays safe while he’s with you—on the streets and in the sheets.”
“OH MY GOD, DAD!”
But his dad only laughs and hangs up on him. There’s a beat of horrified silence for Stiles before he sees Derek’s shoulders rapidly shaking.
“Shut the fuck up,” Stiles hisses, throwing his phone on the couch and walking over to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Derek. But that only makes Derek laugh harder and Stiles responds by biting Derek on the shoulder. “I hate you.”
“Liar,” Derek says through a smile.
“Okay, fine, I don’t. But if you don’t stop laughing at my expense, I’m not putting out for the rest of the summer.”
Derek snorts, pouring them both coffee. “Liar.”
“Will you stop cheating with your wolfy senses for one second and just let me have this?” Stiles mumbles morosely. Derek turns around and kisses Stiles softly.
“You really want to stay for the summer?”
Stiles bites his lips, suddenly unsure, it only just occurring to him that he didn’t even discuss staying for two full months with Derek. As if sensing his thoughts, Derek turns around and wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling him closer and kisses all Stiles’ doubts away.
“I want you to stay forever but I’m happy to start with the summer for now,” Derek whispers.
Stiles beams and proceeds to kiss Derek with everything he has, coffee long forgotten.