Derek has a problem. That problem begins with a strange boy called Stiles Stilinski and ends with his slipping grade in AP History.
Before Mr Yukimura moved Stiles from the back of the room to the desk besides his, Derek had never gotten anything lower than an A+ in History. Now, he’s in the range of As, Bs and Cs, and he knows that’s not bad, but Derek has high aspirations that include maybe an Ivy League school and most likely studying History in college.
But now there’s Stiles next to him. Stiles who gets at least an A if not an A+ on every test and every pop quiz, but is also the most distracting person to sit by. He’s entertaining to an extent, but it’s slowly ruining his life and his grade.
Stiles just always has some sarcastic comment to say about almost anything Mr Yukimura says and it’s almost always hilarious, always historically accurate, and always distracting. It doesn’t help that the kid seems to have an oral fixation and is the single most beautiful creature Derek has ever seen.
The first time it happens, Derek almost chokes on air trying to stifle his laughter.
They’re in the middle of their Ancient Civilisations topic and Mr Yukimura has decided to recap the Trojan War. Derek already knows it pretty well since he had a very Greek phase when he was a child that Laura will never let him live down. She brings it up at least once every family gathering and she still insists on saying Oh my Zeus around him. He won’t ever forget the phase any more than he’ll forget the information he learned during it.
He’s not paying too much attention to what Mr Yukimura is saying because he already knows it so when Stiles Stilinski whispers “The Trojan Horse?”, he turns to look at him.
Stiles has only sat next to him for twenty minutes at this point and all he’s done is tap his pen incessantly against the table, jiggle his leg and tap his foot against the floor. They haven’t spoken so Derek doesn’t really pay him any attention.
But then Stiles whispers, “Or as I like to call it, murderous piñata” and Derek almost loses it. He bites his lip so hard it bleeds so he doesn’t laugh out loud and Stiles looks far too smug about it.
The second time is during the next lesson where they’re still talking about Ancient Civilisations. They’ve moved on to the Romans this time and Derek is secretly hoping that Stiles doesn’t know anything about the Romans because he can’t deal with another one of those comments. It took him three times as long to do his homework because he kept thinking about Stiles.
(He’s blaming the sarcasm, but some little voice in his head knows it’s an entirely different thing. He doesn’t need to think about that right now.)
“Does anyone know the famous phrase related to the Roman Empire?” Mr Yukimura asks which shocks him out of his thoughts that are definitely not focussed on Stiles’ mouth.
He begins to raise his hand to answer, but he stops when Stiles begins to whisper, “When in doubt, think what would Nero do? Kill everyone!”
Derek has to look away and clamp his teeth down on his thumb to not burst out laughing. He misses at least ten minutes of Mr Yukimura’s lesson because of it.
The third time it happens, Derek honestly has no idea what the context for it is. All he remembers of that lesson is that they’re discussing the Ancient Egyptians and that Stiles possibly plays Dungeons and Dragons.
He’s just sitting there peacefully and Stiles just whispers, “The Ancient Egyptians have been playing Dungeons and Dragons as early as 200 BC.”
He hates that he gets it. It’s ridiculous that he knows that the Ancient Egyptians used twenty-sided dice and it’s even more ridiculous that his first thought is I wonder what the hieroglyph for D20 is.
It keeps happening.
They’re back discussing the Greeks when Stiles whispers, “Why does Oedipus hate profanity?”
Derek doesn’t bite. He doesn’t ask why, he just sits there quietly and wonders if he’ll remember anything of this lesson besides Stiles.
It doesn’t matter anyway because Stiles responds, in spite of not getting a reply, whispering, “Because he kisses his Mother with that mouth,” to himself and Derek hates that it makes him want to laugh.
They’re discussing the Tudor Period when Stiles whispers, “Can we play wed, bed, behead?”
Derek pretends they don’t call it that in the History Club and he continues to pretend that he’s not distracted by Stiles.
They’re somehow on the topic on what people want to do when they’re older. He thinks it’s because someone asked Mr Yukimura if he always wanted to be a history teacher, but he can’t be sure because Stiles has been obscenely chewing on his pen the entire lesson.
He zones out a little, knowing he can just say he wants to study History in college if it gets to him. He tries not to look at Stiles, but he’s watching him out of the corner of his eye. He’s just a lot prettier than he seems to think.
But then Stiles whispers, “I want to follow in the footsteps of Pedro José Domingo de la Calzada Manuel María Lascuráin Paredes,” and Derek hates that he gets the reference.
“What kind of modern day games do we have due to 19th Century Europe?” Mr Yukimura asks one day.
“Pin the dick on the Roman,” Stiles whispers and Derek wonders if he’d get to swap seats if he just started crying in History class one day.
They’re discussing the American Revolution when Stiles just whispers, “Ain’t no party like a Boston Tea Party because a Boston Tea Party don’t stop until Boston is put under martial law and everyone is disillusioned with parliament as a whole,” and Derek hates how historically accurate it is.
He hates how his grade is slipping in this lesson, but he can’t bring himself to hate Stiles.
Stiles has a whale of a time when they discuss paintings throughout History.
“Michaelangelo was basically the Renaissance Robert Pattinson.”
“Raphael fucked himself to death.”
“Everyone who pronounces Van Gogh wrong can suck my Goph.”
“My goal in life is to paint a baby flipping off the Pope.”
“After I have a dream caused by the flight of a bee around a pomegranate a second before awakening, I, too, feel like the Great Masturbator.”
“Which president was the least guilty?” Stiles asks no one in a lesson about witchcraft.
Derek has no context for it either.
“Lincoln,” Stiles continues as if anyone answered. Derek sometimes wonders if there’s someone in the room with super hearing who responds or if Stiles is just actively torturing him in particular. “Because he was in a cent.”
They’re having an independent study for the midterm and even Stiles seems stressed. And he shows his stress in a very Stiles way, and by that Derek means that Stiles is sitting there pouting down at his paper, tapping his pen as fast as a Dragonfly flaps its wings, keeps huffing and has thrown a highlighter across a room.
Derek is stressed too. His grade is slipping and he really needs to do well on his midterm, but Stiles keeps distracting him in every single lesson and Derek can’t do anything but sigh.
“I wish I was taller,” Stiles mutters to himself suddenly. He sounds like he’s not aware that the words are coming out of his mouth. “I wish I was taller so a Prussian Emperor would kidnap me for his army so I wouldn’t have to take midterms.”
Derek hates that he snorts at it even if Stiles notices and smiles at him for it. Even if it makes his heart flutter.
It changes after that.
Derek doesn’t fail his midterm and actually gets full marks on the test which even he’s shocked about. Stiles gets full marks as well, but no one’s surprised about that. It’s Stiles.
It’s Stiles who is even cuter when he’s genuinely smiling down at his paper. His amber eyes light up and his smile encompasses his entire face. He’s even prettier than normal.
And Stiles is actively talking to him. It’s still the stupid jokes and sarcastic comments that Derek is used to, but they’re directed at him. And it makes his heart speed up and there’s an eruption of butterflies in his stomach every time Stiles turns to him to say something.
He’s slowly falling in love with Stiles and he can’t do anything but sit there and let it happen.
“It’s the U S S R!” Stiles whispers to him one day and Derek just turns to him wondering why he likes Stiles so much. He raises his eyebrows at him and Stiles just grins straight back at him. “Comrade, steel production is down!”
He waggles his eyebrows at Derek, clearly trying to encourage Derek to join in which he will not. He refuses to join in. Derek Hale does not sing; Derek Hale does not get involved in anything to do with music, tempo, rhythm or melody. He cannot do that.
Derek is a nerd. He knows it, his friends know it, his family knows it, his teachers know it, everyone knows it. He studies for at least four hours a day, he plays Dungeons and Dragons, he runs History Club, he’s team captain on Academic Decathlon, but he does not sing.
“Comrade,” Stiles says with a bit more force, staring at Derek. “Steel production is down!”
He just stares straight back at Stiles and shrugs. He refuses to sing. He is not singing about the USSR to the tune of the YMCA with Stiles in the middle of their history class.
“Comrade,” Stiles whispers again and Derek just keeps staring blankly at him. “Steel production is down!”
The corners of his lips turn up and he gets the urge to laugh. Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and he grins at Derek and it’s blinding and Derek hates that it makes his insides feel warm and fuzzy. Stiles whispers again, “I said, comrade.”
Derek bites his lip and breathes out and then he whispers, “You must sleep on the ground.”
Stiles’ grin grows even more and his eyes light up. “It’s the U S S R!”
Stiles turns to him holding his fingers up in a V shape and Derek rolls his eyes, awaiting a vagina joke.
But then Stiles says, “A Roman walks into a bar and asks for five beers,” instead and Derek has to put his head on the table he’s laughing so hard.
“Why did Hitler get hit by a baseball?” Stiles asks him one day.
Having absolutely no idea where this is going because this is Stiles and Derek is fairly certain Stiles doesn’t know where he’s going with his jokes 80% of the time, he says, “Because he was a homophobic, anti-Semitist douchebag and a fascist who orchestrated genocide masterfully?”
“Because he did Nazi it coming,” Stiles says and Derek just sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. Goddamn it. “But what you said too.”
“Derek, my dude, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” Stiles asks him one day and Derek just about chokes on air. He turns to Stiles, flushing bright red. He can feel the blood rushing even to the tips of his ears. “Or a boyfriend, I don’t know what you’re into.”
“No,” he bites out, not quite meeting Stiles’ eyes. This is not the kind of conversation you want to have with your crush. “I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend.”
Stiles nods and licks his lips. Derek very determinedly stares straight at his desk, admiring the wood and trying to not look at Stiles’ lips. “Do you want some dating advice?”
“I’d say no, but I’m fairly certain you’re going to give it to me anyway,” he says and Stiles just grins the way he always does.
“You know me so well, Der-Bear,” Stiles says and Derek tells himself that the butterflies in his stomach are not from the nickname. He’s not sure what to blame them on, but he’s not blaming them on the nickname because that’ll just make his crush worse. “So dating advice from History: never ask if they'll have the cheque at the end of a date because Britain did that to Germany and that’s what caused World War Two.”
Derek sighs again and Stiles smirks at him. Feeling particularly confident, Derek smirks back at him and raises his eyebrows and says, “And here I thought I was worth enough for you to start a war over me.”
“Only if you’re in Paris,” Stiles says and Derek can’t help the grin that spreads on his face.
“Do you know what day it is?” Stiles asks him, not looking up from his book where he’s writing notes down hurriedly.
Derek isn’t really paying any attention so instead of realising that Stiles was asking for the date, he just replies with “Copernicus’ birthday,” and goes back to writing in his own book.
Stiles pauses for a second before he huffs out a laugh and drops his pen which clatters on the desk. “Ah yes, Copernicus. He’s the guy who thought hey, maybe the Earth goes around the sun, and then the Catholic Church was like, hey, what if we set you on fire?”
“Roses are red, Alexander was great, he was preserved in honey and honey, this is fate,” Stiles randomly whispers to him one day. Derek just raises his eyebrows at him wondering how Stiles’ brain even works.
“Roses are red, violets aren’t blue, you’re really shit at poetry dude,” he replies and Stiles’ eyes light up like a Christmas tree.
“Dude, you wrote me a poem!” he exclaims in a hushed whisper and Derek just rolls his eyes, but he grins. “Roses are red, Vlad likes to impale, I can’t believe I just got a poem from Derek Hale.”
“Can someone please briefly summarise the Cold War for me?” Mr Yukimura asks one day and as per usual, Stiles leans over to whisper in Derek’s ear.
Derek determinedly ignores those pesky butterflies in his stomach again as Stiles’ breath tickles his ear. “The Cold War was basically the Soviet Union and the US competing in a metaphorical game of who can pee the highest. But when it actually came to it, neither of them would meet the others at the urinal because they were too scared that the other could actually pee higher.”
It’s actually a pretty good analogy and Derek just breathes through his nose and puts his head in his hands.
“Is there anything you’d like to share with the class, Mr Stilinski?” Mr Yukimura interrupts, staring directly at the two of them. Derek glances at Stiles and smirks and Stiles just rolls his eyes before launching into an incredibly detailed summary and Derek just puts his head down on the table. He is so fucked.
They’re discussing the Russian Revolution when Stiles turns to him with an almost shy grin on his face and just whispers, “Are you the failure of false class consciousness because I feel an uprising in my lower class?”
Derek’s heart stops. He freezes entirely and his eyes widen and he just stares at Stiles. His mouth forms a perfect o and he just keeps staring before he blinks several times, shaking his head. It’s only a joke, Stiles is not flirting with him. Still, he can joke back, right? The idea makes him basically quake in his boots (and no, Laura, they do not make him look like a thirteen year old emo), but he ploughs ahead anyway.
“Are you a capitalist? Because you have a monopoly on my heart,” he replies with his best attempt at a wicked grin. He’s not even lying, he spends so much time thinking about how adorable Stiles is, it’s ruining his life.
“Roses are red, so is the state, please please please please, take me out on a date!” Stiles replies and Derek freezes again. He was not expecting that.
“Roses are red, you’re better at poetry, I’ll pick you at seven and we can go see a movie?” he blurts out before he even realises he’s speaking. He just stares at Stiles feeling like this isn’t real. This can’t be real; he isn’t agreeing to go on a date with Stiles Stilinski. He’s had a crush on Stiles for so long.
“I really hope you’re serious because dude, you’re hotter than Chicago in 1871 and I really like you,” Stiles says hurriedly and Derek just nods jerkily.
“I really, really, really like you too,” he replies quietly and Stiles’ grin is so blinding that he might need some of Benjamin Franklin’s bifocals. “You must be the Reign of Terror, because I lose my head over you every single time I see you.”