Sterek AU - Hale Academy
Sleek ebony doors fall open under Derek’s hand to a stone hallway. Magnificent pillars have been carved into the walls here, permitting the heat and light of the sun to pour through. Perched preeminently at the end of the hall is a balcony. Derek’s balmoral’s echo faintly as he walks to it. The room he’d come from has an excessive amount of air-conditioning, as no one has had the chance to tweak it to Derek’s preference, yet. (No one has had the time, more like.) He won’t bother the staff with it. The succession has tripled everyone’s workloads, including his own. He can deal with chilly fingers. Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t relish spreading his fingers over the sun-warmed stone on the balcony edge. His fingers tingle and turn to butter, melting slowly into liquid. With the feeling back in his fingers he looks out onto the grounds.
Hale Academy. (Yes, Hale academy, not to be mistaken for, ‘Hail, the academy!’ The second of which is a cheer in favor of the literal school, not the Hales, as it is widely accepted among the students that there can be one without the other.)
Derek’s eyes are drawn to one student in particular. Stiles Stilinski is lounging luxuriously on the grass, hands perched behind him so that his long pale neck can tilt back, back, back. His eyes are closed and there’s the smallest of grins hinted at in the tug of his lips. He looks how Derek’s fingers feel; warm and malleable.
It strikes Derek rather suddenly that he’s the only student not tucked into the corners and tables and benches surrounding the square. Hale Academy doesn’t see many sunny days, but while the rest of the students seem unbothered - knowing it won’t last - Stilinski basks in it. It must be because he’s from California, Derek’s mind supplies absently.
“Who is he?”
“Some kid from California.” Cora said, “S’been a while since we’ve had one of those, the majority of bigger packs run in the east.”
Cora had shrugged. “The academy chose him.”
Derek’s fingers start to go cold again. Looking down, a shadow has begun to cross over them. He glances up and watches as the clouds start bleeding across the sky, blotting out the sun. Unthinkingly, his gaze flashes back down to the grass, to that long pale neck, and feels his heart smack against his ribs when he finds the eyes that neck belongs to watching him back. Derek tightens his hands on the balcony. Far below him the spilling shadow has reached Stilinski, and when Derek doesn’t look away from their met gaze, the human raises his eyebrow and grins.
With forced grace, Derek turns from the balcony, thinking, “He’s gonna be eaten alive.”