Derek almost makes the mistake of saying, It’s not fanart, but he manages to catch himself, biting his tongue. This stranger, who’s already identified himself as at least a casual fan of Midnight Wolf, doesn’t need to know that he actually is the artist and author, not just another fan.
It’s not that the idea of Stiles talking about him doesn’t make his stomach wrap itself in knots, it’s that it does just that. It makes him unbelievably uncomfortable and he doesn’t quite know why. He’s twenty-seven years old, he pays taxes, he takes his mother out for lunch on Sundays; he is a grown up. But he’s getting weird butterflies when he glances over his shoulder to look at Stiles and a heat in his chest that feels something like what he supposes want must feel like.
Stiles spends a year before college working at the all-night coffee shop in town. It's nice and quiet, until one dark and brooding Derek starts coming in every morning, ordering coffee so strong that it should not be fit for human consumption. Ever. Stiles tries not to be affected by the mystery guy, but it's not like anything else happens around here, so really, what did you expect? And when he's already in too deep, he realises he might even be in way over his head...
