“You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” au sterek? <3
OK, I wrote you a quick little thing. :)
When Derek shows up at Stiles’ back door that morning with a basket full of about three dozen cookies, all carefully iced to look like Batman and Spider-Man, Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just gets up from the kitchen table and opens the screen door, and then he looks down at the basket for a long, long moment, and then he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.
He looks kind of… unkempt. He’s wearing the same sweatpants and lacrosse hoodie he’d had on two days ago when Derek saw him at his mailbox, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, and it’s obvious he hasn’t shaved in a while because there’s some actual stubble there. Derek didn’t think Stiles was even capable of facial hair. It only adds to his attractiveness, but still, Derek can’t help but be concerned.
Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”
“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.
“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”
Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.
“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you. I mean, no one else in the neighborhood even talks to me.”