Archive of Our Own ^beta

"So," Stiles began, leaning casually against the wall. When it didn't cave in on him, he deemed it a success. "You're a pretty good tattoo artist."

Derek glanced up at him and snorted. "How would you know? You refused to look the entire time."

"Shut up, asshole. I'm judging by how Scott's tattoo turned out. It's actually sort of.. impressive." 

Derek grunted and went back to the book he was reading. Stiles figured the conversation was over, and just as he was about to leave, Derek said, "I was a tattoo artist when I lived in New York."

"Wha-.. Oh. Shit dude, you're actually good at art and stuff?" Stiles asked incredulously, running a hand through his hair. (And whoa, he actually had hair. Trippy.)

"Eloquent as always," Derek muttered. "Yes, Stiles, I am actually good at art and stuff." Derek flipped the page of his book. "Shouldn't you be doing homework or something?"

"Fuck that!" Stiles exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the man. "You totally don't get to play the concerned mentor, dude. Don't think I forgot about the time I almost had to cut your arm off." Stiles paused. "Besides, I actually don't have homework. Birds crashed into my school, remember?"

"I was trying to politely tell you to get the fuck out." 

"Well that's not going to work," Stiles said, and plopped down next to Derek. "Why don't you do your art stuff anymore?" 

Derek tensed and he looked as if he was stopping himself from saying something. "Not enough time," he said finally. He glared at the book on his lap and said, "I think you should go." 

Stiles sighed. "Fine. But I'm only leaving because my dad gets off of work soon." He heaved himself off the couch and walked to the door, but not before turning to say, "You could make time, you know. For your art stuff. I think you're really talented." And then he was running out of the house before Derek could shove him into something. 

Derek leaned back and shut his book. That fucking kid would be the death of him.