An Awkward Conversation
Author: brightredhoodie
Title: An Awkward Conversation
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Jackson
Summary: Stiles wakes up and has absolutely no idea where he is or what happened last night.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 959
Prompt: #8 Memories
Author's Notes:
This is part three of my college au story, Written in the Stars. I am probably going to write part 4 tomorrow (and it's going to be the rest of what happened the night before) because this prompt, okay.
The next morning Stiles wakes up with his face pressed into a slightly sticky, very stinky from this close up, brown carpet.
He groans, twitches for a moment and then finally sits up.
He looks around the room and realizes he has absolutely no idea where he is. He's in a dorm room, that much is obvious. It looks almost exactly like his own - old, outdated carpet; beige walls that have seen better days and a bed and dresser so cheap even IKEA wouldn't admit to making them.
But this is not his room. His walls are covered in posters of his favorite movies and these walls are blank. His blankets are bright red and brand new, the one on this bed is gray and worn at the edges.
Another thing this room has? Books. Tons of them. Everywhere. His does too, but these aren’t his books.
He gets to his feet and walks over to the pile stacked on the edge of the desk. He looks at the books for a few seconds before noticing the one on the top. Terry Pratchett's Night Watch.
He stumbles back, almost crashing into the bed because, no. This? This can't be happening.
He cannot be here. He doesn't even know that guy's name. This can’t be...
"Okay," he mutters to himself. "What the hell even happened last night?" He raises a hand to his head to find it sticky. Alarmed, he jerks his hand back to find it covered in what appears to be half melted marshmallow. He scrubs at it furiously, removing the largest bits and flinging them off his fingers.
Oh, god.
What had happened last night?
He honestly can't remember. Everything is blurry, like he's looking at it through the wrong side of a magnifying glass.
"Okay, well, maybe I can," he starts saying just as the door creeps open. In his head he silently finishes with, totally get caught here in some other guy's room. Great.
A tall, well muscled guy with blonde hair loaded with gel steps in. The second he sees Stiles he raises an eyebrow and grunts dismissively.
"Hi," Stiles squeaks.
The guy just shakes his head, grabs a pen from off the desk and leaves the room.
Leaving Stiles alone.
Again.
He spends the next five minutes debating what to do before ultimately deciding he'll just leave.
He walks out into the small shared living room/kitchen just as the front door opens. Stiles holds his breath, praying it's just the blond guy again.
It's not. It's the guy from before. The impossibly attractive one with green eyes too beautiful to be a real thing.
And he's carrying two coffees.
Stiles tries to say something but instead just ends up nodding awkwardly as the guy walks in.
"Hey," he says conversationally. This is shocking for two reasons. One, last time they spoke he was all prickly and...
Oh, god.
What if that wasn't the last time they'd talked?
“Hi,” Stiles says and really, he’s starting to get desperate over the fact that he still doesn’t know this guy’s name.
“I’m Derek,” he says quietly as he hands Stiles one of the coffees.
“Oh, I’m -” Stiles starts but the other guy, Derek, cuts him off. “I know. You said.”
Stiles nods. “Right.” He takes a sip of the coffee but it’s so hot it almost burns his tongue.
“So, last night was...” Derek says with a deft shake of his head.
“Uh-huh,” says Stiles, like he has any idea what last night was.
“You were really drunk,” Derek says.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty bad. I mean, I think it was anyway. I vaguely remember being really happy about a stick or something,” Stiles says and the instant he says it he really wishes he hadn’t because, well, that just sounded all kinds of wrong.
“You wanted to drag that thing back with you,” Derek says. He shakes his head, clearly disapproving.
“Okay, so. Okay, so,” Stiles says. “Okay, so,” he says for a third time because apparently, he can’t come up with anything else. Finally, he comes up with, “Okay, so, why am I here?”
“You seem to have lost your keys,” Derek says.
Stiles frantically searches his pockets for his keys and can’t find them. He curses a bit and sighs.
“So I brought you here instead,” Derek says like Stiles hadn’t at all interrupted him.
Stiles nods. He’s silent for a second before he says, “So you just like, watched out for me last night?”
Derek shrugs. “Somebody had to.”
Stiles hates it, but he deflates a little at that. He’d kind of hoped that there’d been a reason for why Derek had apparently watched out for him and made sure he didn’t end up asleep outside or worse. But maybe not.
Silence stretches out between them and they both just stare at the floor or the wall and sip their coffees.
When he’s about half done his and suitably awake, Stiles says, “I should probably go look for my keys.” He points at the door, as if he needs to make the idea that he’s leaving right now anymore obvious.
“I could help,” Derek grits out. “Er, if you want. I could help if you want.”
“Sure!” Stiles says, entirely too excitedly. “That’d be great!”
Derek gets this look - like he’s about to smile - but then he doesn’t. Stiles wishes he would, but he’s not quite brave enough to say it out loud. Derek nods at the door and they both walk out.
Halfway down the hall, Stiles starts debating about which is better, Star Trek or Star Wars - an old but reliable debate, at least amongst nerds anyway.
This time, Derek actually joins in.
Title: An Awkward Conversation
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Jackson
Summary: Stiles wakes up and has absolutely no idea where he is or what happened last night.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 959
Prompt: #8 Memories
Author's Notes:
This is part three of my college au story, Written in the Stars. I am probably going to write part 4 tomorrow (and it's going to be the rest of what happened the night before) because this prompt, okay.
The next morning Stiles wakes up with his face pressed into a slightly sticky, very stinky from this close up, brown carpet.
He groans, twitches for a moment and then finally sits up.
He looks around the room and realizes he has absolutely no idea where he is. He's in a dorm room, that much is obvious. It looks almost exactly like his own - old, outdated carpet; beige walls that have seen better days and a bed and dresser so cheap even IKEA wouldn't admit to making them.
But this is not his room. His walls are covered in posters of his favorite movies and these walls are blank. His blankets are bright red and brand new, the one on this bed is gray and worn at the edges.
Another thing this room has? Books. Tons of them. Everywhere. His does too, but these aren’t his books.
He gets to his feet and walks over to the pile stacked on the edge of the desk. He looks at the books for a few seconds before noticing the one on the top. Terry Pratchett's Night Watch.
He stumbles back, almost crashing into the bed because, no. This? This can't be happening.
He cannot be here. He doesn't even know that guy's name. This can’t be...
"Okay," he mutters to himself. "What the hell even happened last night?" He raises a hand to his head to find it sticky. Alarmed, he jerks his hand back to find it covered in what appears to be half melted marshmallow. He scrubs at it furiously, removing the largest bits and flinging them off his fingers.
Oh, god.
What had happened last night?
He honestly can't remember. Everything is blurry, like he's looking at it through the wrong side of a magnifying glass.
"Okay, well, maybe I can," he starts saying just as the door creeps open. In his head he silently finishes with, totally get caught here in some other guy's room. Great.
A tall, well muscled guy with blonde hair loaded with gel steps in. The second he sees Stiles he raises an eyebrow and grunts dismissively.
"Hi," Stiles squeaks.
The guy just shakes his head, grabs a pen from off the desk and leaves the room.
Leaving Stiles alone.
Again.
He spends the next five minutes debating what to do before ultimately deciding he'll just leave.
He walks out into the small shared living room/kitchen just as the front door opens. Stiles holds his breath, praying it's just the blond guy again.
It's not. It's the guy from before. The impossibly attractive one with green eyes too beautiful to be a real thing.
And he's carrying two coffees.
Stiles tries to say something but instead just ends up nodding awkwardly as the guy walks in.
"Hey," he says conversationally. This is shocking for two reasons. One, last time they spoke he was all prickly and...
Oh, god.
What if that wasn't the last time they'd talked?
“Hi,” Stiles says and really, he’s starting to get desperate over the fact that he still doesn’t know this guy’s name.
“I’m Derek,” he says quietly as he hands Stiles one of the coffees.
“Oh, I’m -” Stiles starts but the other guy, Derek, cuts him off. “I know. You said.”
Stiles nods. “Right.” He takes a sip of the coffee but it’s so hot it almost burns his tongue.
“So, last night was...” Derek says with a deft shake of his head.
“Uh-huh,” says Stiles, like he has any idea what last night was.
“You were really drunk,” Derek says.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty bad. I mean, I think it was anyway. I vaguely remember being really happy about a stick or something,” Stiles says and the instant he says it he really wishes he hadn’t because, well, that just sounded all kinds of wrong.
“You wanted to drag that thing back with you,” Derek says. He shakes his head, clearly disapproving.
“Okay, so. Okay, so,” Stiles says. “Okay, so,” he says for a third time because apparently, he can’t come up with anything else. Finally, he comes up with, “Okay, so, why am I here?”
“You seem to have lost your keys,” Derek says.
Stiles frantically searches his pockets for his keys and can’t find them. He curses a bit and sighs.
“So I brought you here instead,” Derek says like Stiles hadn’t at all interrupted him.
Stiles nods. He’s silent for a second before he says, “So you just like, watched out for me last night?”
Derek shrugs. “Somebody had to.”
Stiles hates it, but he deflates a little at that. He’d kind of hoped that there’d been a reason for why Derek had apparently watched out for him and made sure he didn’t end up asleep outside or worse. But maybe not.
Silence stretches out between them and they both just stare at the floor or the wall and sip their coffees.
When he’s about half done his and suitably awake, Stiles says, “I should probably go look for my keys.” He points at the door, as if he needs to make the idea that he’s leaving right now anymore obvious.
“I could help,” Derek grits out. “Er, if you want. I could help if you want.”
“Sure!” Stiles says, entirely too excitedly. “That’d be great!”
Derek gets this look - like he’s about to smile - but then he doesn’t. Stiles wishes he would, but he’s not quite brave enough to say it out loud. Derek nods at the door and they both walk out.
Halfway down the hall, Stiles starts debating about which is better, Star Trek or Star Wars - an old but reliable debate, at least amongst nerds anyway.
This time, Derek actually joins in.