tell me about the one where stiles is the only one who figures this out the one where he doesn’t tell any of the others…
It’s not like Stiles planned to find out. Or was spying on anyone. Not Derek. Never Derek. No. He’d say it Spanish. For emphasis. But his dad had been passive aggressively leaving college pamphlets around the house and sighing significantly whenever the TV played a college commercial.
So Stiles has hit the roads on a bright Saturday morning towards Pasadena to check out CalTech’s open house. He hits a bit of traffic but he’s pulling into visitors’ parking before ten and already eager to see what kind of swag he can haul from the tables already set up for prospective students. But coffee first. He needs coffee.
Stiles maneuvers his way through the crowds of parents and eager eyed high school seniors and grumpy students towards the caffeine nirvana. He’s standing in line at the campus’ Starbucks when he gets a text from his dad, one conveying how happy he is for Stiles taking initiative and apologizing for not being there with him. Double shifts are no one’s friend. Stiles sighs and rolls his shoulders before texting back that he hopes this means no more pamphlets but his dad replies with a happy face emoticon.
Stiles takes that as a no. A Spanish no. He contents himself by ordering the most cavity inducing drink and sending a picture of it to his dad. He’s almost out of the cafe when he nearly trips over his own feet in shock. Not twenty feet away is one Derek Hale, alpha to the mistfit toys pack of Beacon Hills, hunched over a epic textbook with pen ink on his face and half a dozen empty coffee cups.