[AO3 link] | prompt from @handsofred:
Strangers waiting somewhere/travelling...sharing glances and looks with each other and making faces.
Overhearing a conversation/fight/break up of another couple.
Maybe it's what brings Stiles and Derek together in to talking once the couple or person has moved on elsewhere and they laugh and comment about it.
The stationâs quiet, peacefulâtypical of a small townâand Stiles is the complete opposite. He sticks out like a sore thumb, he knows, pacing around for the train to get here already, though probably not as much as the two highschoolers thatâre going around bothering the waiting passengers.
They look a bit out of their mind, honestly. They sound like it too. He feels bad, but heâs waiting for his train and stranger danger, so he mostly ignores them along with the glances and stares he feels on him.
Thereâs one other person who sticks out like a sore thumb. A dark-haired man a little older than Stiles, muscular and fit but not in a bodybuilding-obsessed kind of way. Heâs not pacing around in circles like Stiles is; in fact, heâs just standing there leaning against a pillar arms crossed.
But he radiates this impenetrable energy that draws stares as well despite doing a whole lot of nothing.
Well, that and the fact that he does look like he could be a model. In a leather jacket biker kind of way.
Stiles jolts his gaze away when the man glances at him again, then peeks over again. The same cycle loops a few times. He both wishes this train would get here already and not at all. He kind of wants to stare at the handsome stranger for a little longer.
Thereâs something about him that draws him in. His features are sharp cliffs, his eyes are crystal clear forests. His muscles are hills and his breaths are valleys.
Firm yet gentleâthatâs the atmosphere Stiles gets from him.
It calms the itch under his skin a bit.
His heart starts pounding though, when he peeks over once only to find the stranger still staring at him. Full-on staring. And heâs straightening, walking over, and Stiles wipes his clammy hands on his jeans.
âWaiting for the train?â asks Stiles with a greeting nod, only to realize after the fact that this was a train stationâof course theyâre all waiting for the train.
The stranger doesnât snark, thankfully. âMm, Beacon Hills.â
âYeah, same,â says Stiles. Cringes at himself. âObviously. Since itâs the only train left. Yeah.â
He earns himself an amused snort for his awkwardness, which is a huge win, especially since the faint smile softening the manâs contours gets Stilesâ heart all aflutter. He sees now up close that the manâs eyes really are crystal clear forest, jade green foliage flecked with gold sunrays around rings of brown closer to the pupils.
âOh, Iâm Stiles, by the way,â he adds. Itâd suck if he didnât at least get the manâs name. Hopefully his phone number too, though that could be found as long as he knows the manâs name.
Not that he would do that. Because that would be creepy.
âDerek,â the man replies. âDerek Hale.â
Stilesâ nose scrunches. âSounds familiarâŚ.â
âI would remember if I met you before,â says Derek with a hint of a smirk(?)â
Oh, is he flirting? Can he take this as flirting?
Stiles licks his lips, fiddles with his keyfob like heâs been doing this whole time, because that train is slow as shit and patience has never been his strong suit.
"Would remember me walking a hole through the floor?â Stiles jokes back. (He never said he knows how to flirt.)
Derekâs eyes search his, curious. âSomething like that. You do feel familiar too, thoughâŚ.â
He doesnât break eye contact and neither does Stiles, until it begins feeling a little too intimate, their bodies gravitating closer and closer, a mere inch apart before they both clear their throats, blink. Look away.
But they donât step back.
Itâs as if the spell will break if they do, and Stiles sure as hell doesnât want it to.
The fact that Derek doesnât want it to either makes him out of breath.
Thatâs Stilesâ excuse for sounding breathless, anyway, when he blurts, âYour number.â
Not the smoothest, but Derekâs eyes twinkle at him and thatâs all that matters. Derek just holds a hand out and Stiles passes him his phoneâDerekâs brows furrow though, which has Stilesâ gut twisting.
âYou can just type it in if you canât send a text,â suggests Stiles, mostly out of hope that thatâs the issue. âThe cell service here is shit.â
Derek pauses, then shows him the screen. âIâm already in here.â
Stiles blinks, squintsâheâs right. His numberâs typed into a new message field and a contact shows up in the dropdown below it as âđđşâ.
âUh.â The contact looks familiar yet not at all. âI dunno, um. I mean. Iâm not a stalker, swear. Iââ
âWhatâs your number?â Derek asks him, and when he types it into his own phone, he apparently also has Stiles as a contact.
He tries to hide his screen but Stiles sees it in the nick of time. Itâs kind of cute actually, the way his jaw twitches in embarrassment.
Stiles doesnât know how he knows thatâs what that specific jaw twitch means. Maybe heâs gotten better at reading peopleâs microexpressions than he thought.
âWell,â says Stiles. âI donât mind. If youâre stalking me.â
âIâm not stalking you,â hisses Derek. He looks confused and stressed and also hot running a hand through his hair. âI donâtâ I donât knowââ
âYou have me in your phone as âmy lifeâ,â Stiles tells him quite matter-of-fact. âKinda gives you stalker points.â
âSo do you! AsâŚââDerek waves his hand at the emojis with a grimaceââthat. I donât get the lemon part.â
Stiles muses on it for a second. âLemonâŚ. Maybe you like lemons? Or I like lemons? It does also mean sex in fanfiction, soââ He cuts off belatedly at that, and Derek just stares at him like heâs stupid.
âLook whoâs winning the stalker points now,â quips Derek, voice dry.
Stiles makes a face. âMm, I donât know if that wins over âmy lifeâ in your mother tongueââ
âOkay, stop,â Derek cuts in with a sigh. âClearly something else is going on hereâŚ.â He trails off and his gaze hones in on Stilesâ keyfob.
âWhat?â asks Stiles as Derek reaches in his own pockets to pull outâ
Matching keychains. A miniature baseball bat and a cute wolf plush.
Stiles snortsâit suits Derek, which Derek apparently doesnât agree with. He finds himself looking even closer at Derek now though, as does Derek. Theyâre swaying closer in; Derekâs running his fingers down Stilesâ wrist and Stiles is closing his eyes, breathing in that forest, musk, andâwhatâs that last note? He recognizes it, he knows he does.
âYou have a mole here,â says Derek, pointing at a spot on Stilesâ inner elbow thatâs covered by flannel. âAnd here. Here. Here.â
He points out locations over Stilesâ chest down his torso like heâs mapping constellations heâs memorized by heart.
Stiles sort of just stares at himâ(itâs not like he knows where his moles are, nor did he know he had so many to begin with)â until Derek stares at him meaningfully, waiting. âCheck,â Derek demands.
He lifts his shirt and lo and behold, Derek got each one exactly right.
The question is what does it mean? Heâs reeling, honestly, because how the fuck does a hot stranger-not-stranger that heâs felt a pull towards this whole time know exactly where all his moles on his chest areâ
âI know the ones elsewhere too,â Derek tells him. Murmurs, growls. His irises flash scarlet, and Stilesâ body is clenching in parts that are much too telling.
âI know your scent,â continues Derek. He leans closer in, arm next to Stilesâ head on the pillar as he presses Stiles against it. âI know you. I know every part of yââ
âThatâs it!â Stiles bursts out, hands tap-tap-tapping Derekâs shoulders in an epiphany. âYour scent! Itâs forest, musk, leather, and a mix of soap and detergent! Old Spice soap. My soap and my detergent. Youâre mââ
âMine,â Derek finishes for him in a surge towards each other, lips meeting, returning, sparkingâ
Heâs home. This taste, this scent. He knows these hills and valleys, maps ingrained into him like reflex as he runs his hands over them. This warmth, safe and steady yet blazing; Derekâs inhaling him in like itâs his last breath, Stiles is clutching his head close and tight like heâll slip through his fingers, andâ
âSeriously? Youâre kidding me.â
Stiles recognizes the voice as one of the highschoolers except he knows it now; but Derek ignores them, nips Stilesâ lip, so Stiles just hums an appreciative sigh back thatâs immediately swallowed.
âHey!â A snap of the fingers. âReally? Donât pretend like you donât remember me now!â
Derek sucks Stilesâ tongue one last time before growling a âtskâ that makes Stiles laugh as he finally draws away. He flicks an annoyed glance at the tall curly-haired teen standing there in exasperated shock while the younger dark-haired one next to him just gapes. âWhat,â grumbles Derek as he noses Stilesâ necks, lips leaving marks and hands tugging Stilesâ waist in.
Isaac rolls his eyes, throws his hands up in the air. âWhat do you mean, âwhatâ? Weâre trapped in some weird station full of people who donât exist anymore and forgot everything! We donât exist anymore. And you two forgot everything too! Thatâs âwhat'!â
Stiles revels in the sensation of Derek around him, against his skin. Plays with his hair as Derek scents and marks his neck until heâs satisfied and straightens. He doesnât remove his hands from Stiles though.
âThen it doesnât matter if we get a few minutes to ourselves, does it,â says Derek. âNot like you did anything useful and found an escape route.â
Isaac stares at him in wordless disbelief, mimes strangling him, and Stiles laughs again, which lands him on the end of Isaacâs mimed strangling as well.
âWait, how did you two snap out of it?â asks CoreyâStiles wonders how the two of them got sent here together in the first place. âYou actually remember everything now? You were deep in, just like everyone else here. We couldnât talk to you or anyone, we were about to give up on it honestly. Is there a trick to it or something? Maybe we can, for the othersââ
âDefinitely not,â mutters Isaac.
Stiles shrugs. âNo trick. Butââ He shares a look at Derek, those soft forest eyes and well-traveled cliffs.
âWeâll always remember each other,â Derek finishes for him, âmi vida.â Itâs quiet, spoken like a promise, and Stiles smiles.
Coreyâs silent, but his eyes are full of wonder.
Derek scans the station, gaze shifting to where Stiles is lookingâthe tunnel. âHave you checked that out?â he asks with a nod in that direction.
âNot yet.â Isaac grimaces. âFeels dangerous.â
A sigh. Derek doesnât roll his eyes but itâs a close thing as he and Stiles hop off the platform and start walking down the tracks. âTime for us to do everything, as always,â he mutters.
âI heard that,â Isaac says from behind them.
âYou mean time for me to do everything and time for you to be a sourwolf,â says Stiles with a snort while scuffing lines in the dirt every so often, just in case.
Derek glances at him, amused. ââSexwolfâ, you mean.â
Isaac groans in the back as Stiles lets out a surprised laugh. âYouâre never going to let me live that down, are you?â
âIâll be anything you want me to be,â Derek whispers not so quietly in his ear.
Shivers down Stilesâ spine, warm ears. He squeezes Derekâs hand, laughs, kisses his cheek.
âLetâs get out of here already then,â he whispers back not so quietly.
Isaacâs exasperated âoh my godâ echoes off the tunnel walls behind them as Derek hums in agreement.
