Sterek A-Z Challenge: one word prompts
Week 15: O - Oops
The bell over the coffee shop door announced Derek’s arrival with a merry jingle a little after 11 in the evening. Derek shuffled the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket.
The shop was almost empty at that hour. Only a few students writing their first papers of the new term and a couple of regular night owls were scattered through the shop. His usual seat in the far corner, where he could sit with his back against the wall and keep watch, was open.
Derek dropped his bag on the small table and shrugged his jacket off to drape over the back of his claimed seat. The young woman at the register was new, which could be potentially problematic. Derek didn’t recognize her, but she smiled cheerfully when he approached.
“What can I get you?” she chirped. Her heartbeat fluttered nervously as her scent sweetened with clear want. Definitely problematic.
Derek paused a moment. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He wasn’t sure his drink had a name.
“Oh, well, we have different speciality coffees and teas,” the barista said and gestured to the menu board behind her. “If you want something-”
“I got this!” Stiles slid out of the back room, arms flailing to keep his balance. “Yo,” he said, greeting Derek with a lazy salute, and Derek snorted. His roommate was ridiculous. “Super awesome Stilinski special as dark as your soul, coming right up.”
“Right,” Derek said, gravitating down the bar towards Stiles. “No cinnamon this time.”
“Sure thing.” Stiles flipped a large paper cup into the air and fumbled to catch it, which made Derek chuckle.
When Stiles called him earlier that year, it had been a bit of a shock. Derek had been living in a cabin upstate that he and Laura had bought years ago. He had finally achieved vengeance for his family when he ripped out Kate’s throat and burned her body deep in the woods, but Beacon Hills wasn’t home anymore, so he hadn’t gone back. Now he wished he had.
At first, Derek hadn’t been sure the small voice on the other end of the phone had actually been Stiles, and not something trying to lure him back to Beacon Hills because the Stiles on the other end of the line had been quiet, almost hesitant, and unsure. As if Stiles hadn’t believed he deserved Derek’s help. Definitely not at all the hyperactive, chatterbox he had left behind. They both carried heavy scars, but that was fine.
Before Derek knew it, he had a new roommate and was driving across the country to pick Stiles up the day he got his diploma. Stiles hadn’t been home since, and the Sheriff was worried.
The barista asked Derek what the drink was so she could ring it up as Stiles ducked out of sight to retrieve milk out of the fridge below the counter.
“I don’t know,” Derek said again. “Something chocolate?”
Derek always had the same drink whenever he came in, but he didn’t know what it was because Stiles had never told him. It probably didn’t have a name. The first time he picked Stiles up, Stiles had whipped something up and shoved it into his hands.
Stiles’ head popped back up over the espresso bar. The steamer hissed to life, and Stiles laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. It’s on me,” he said and winked at Derek.
Derek hadn’t paid for a drink yet.
The drink Stiles handed off to Derek smelled overly sweet and chocolatey, and was piled so high with whipped cream drizzled with chocolate and caramel that the topping threatened to spill over. He wasn’t sure how Stiles knew about his sweet tooth, but he shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Here ya go, big guy,” Stiles said and grinned. “Extra sweet and fluffy. Just like you.”