[ stiles is a little too distracted with splitting his attention between the pizza on the table and the fumbling idiot across from him to actually realize that derek never actually asked him what he likes on his pizza, but still somehow managed to order exactly what he likes. it'll strike him later, probably, maybe as he's just about to fall asleep, or maybe even later than that, when he's waking up tomorrow. but right now he's preoccupied, watching derek with quiet curiosity as he reaches for the can he didn't catch (odd) and slides himself down onto the floor on the other side of the table.
stiles knows exactly what he's doing and it's clear by the shit-eating grin that he tries to smother by cramming a bite of pizza into his mouth. derek would have gone first anyway just by the rules of the game, but making it seem like he's letting derek have the advantage, like he's being gracious enough to let derek have a fighting chance at beating him is too good of an opportunity to pass up. ]
Mmhmn.
[ he flaps his other hand at derek, smiling around a mouthful of pizza as he sinks his teeth into warm-ish bread and less-warm-ish cheese and tangy pineapple, and it doesn't even matter that it's not hot, because it's still so fucking good. stiles has to take a second to really savor the moment. he sighs through his nose, his shoulders sagging a little and his eyes closing. fuck, pizza is so good. pretty much anything that doesn't come from the down is delicious, but this pizza is doin' it for him.
stiles flutters his eyes open in time to see derek make his first move. it's not anything that's particularly unusual or interesting - yet -, but stiles still narrows his eyes the tiniest bit, gaze flickering from the pawn to derek and back again. he wipes his fingertips on his thigh even though he barely touched the crust with this hand, then reaches out to move a pawn two spaces in the same column, right up to derek's.
if you'd told stiles at sixteen that one day he'd be sitting around in sweatpants and a hoodie, splitting a pizza with derek hale while playing an actual game of chess, stiles probably would have laughed until he gagged because in what world? if you'd told him at eighteen, before duplicity, he'd have laughed then too, maybe not as hard, maybe with a little sadness souring the edges, because stiles would have given damn near anything just to know where derek was, let alone play a game of chess with him.
in all honestly, stiles couldn't give a shit if he winds up losing this game. it would bruise his ego a little, probably dampen his pride for all of ten minutes, but it would be worth it all the same. he's said it already, but he's missed derek, not only here, but back home, too. don't get him wrong - he's glad derek finally got the hell away from beacon hills, but there were some days when things got really rough, where stiles would find himself wishing derek had just taken him with him.
he'd have gone, he thinks. but he has this, now. this fragile, tentative thing, whatever it is. and that's good too.
stiles crams another bite of pizza in his mouth, reaching for his drink. he doesn't sip from it right away, electing to set it down on the floor in the triangle formed by his leg instead, bent at the knee and laid flat. ]
I like this board.
[ he says, apropos of nothing, really, but it's the truth. it's nicer than the one he has, even before the many years and the many games played on it with his father wore it down. stiles gently pulls the pads of his fingers along the edge of the board, watching his own hand for a moment before he glances up. ]
no subject
stiles knows exactly what he's doing and it's clear by the shit-eating grin that he tries to smother by cramming a bite of pizza into his mouth. derek would have gone first anyway just by the rules of the game, but making it seem like he's letting derek have the advantage, like he's being gracious enough to let derek have a fighting chance at beating him is too good of an opportunity to pass up. ]
Mmhmn.
[ he flaps his other hand at derek, smiling around a mouthful of pizza as he sinks his teeth into warm-ish bread and less-warm-ish cheese and tangy pineapple, and it doesn't even matter that it's not hot, because it's still so fucking good. stiles has to take a second to really savor the moment. he sighs through his nose, his shoulders sagging a little and his eyes closing. fuck, pizza is so good. pretty much anything that doesn't come from the down is delicious, but this pizza is doin' it for him.
stiles flutters his eyes open in time to see derek make his first move. it's not anything that's particularly unusual or interesting - yet -, but stiles still narrows his eyes the tiniest bit, gaze flickering from the pawn to derek and back again. he wipes his fingertips on his thigh even though he barely touched the crust with this hand, then reaches out to move a pawn two spaces in the same column, right up to derek's.
if you'd told stiles at sixteen that one day he'd be sitting around in sweatpants and a hoodie, splitting a pizza with derek hale while playing an actual game of chess, stiles probably would have laughed until he gagged because in what world? if you'd told him at eighteen, before duplicity, he'd have laughed then too, maybe not as hard, maybe with a little sadness souring the edges, because stiles would have given damn near anything just to know where derek was, let alone play a game of chess with him.
in all honestly, stiles couldn't give a shit if he winds up losing this game. it would bruise his ego a little, probably dampen his pride for all of ten minutes, but it would be worth it all the same. he's said it already, but he's missed derek, not only here, but back home, too. don't get him wrong - he's glad derek finally got the hell away from beacon hills, but there were some days when things got really rough, where stiles would find himself wishing derek had just taken him with him.
he'd have gone, he thinks. but he has this, now. this fragile, tentative thing, whatever it is. and that's good too.
stiles crams another bite of pizza in his mouth, reaching for his drink. he doesn't sip from it right away, electing to set it down on the floor in the triangle formed by his leg instead, bent at the knee and laid flat. ]
I like this board.
[ he says, apropos of nothing, really, but it's the truth. it's nicer than the one he has, even before the many years and the many games played on it with his father wore it down. stiles gently pulls the pads of his fingers along the edge of the board, watching his own hand for a moment before he glances up. ]
Didn't think you'd actually buy one.