Derek offers a unit on the twentieth floor to Stiles on a Thursday, in the middle of a grocery store.
“What, really?” Stiles asks, brows raised high. He gestures at himself. “Me? Like, me? For real?”
Derek shrugs. “If you want it.”
“Dude, I know you’re kind of the king of not thinking stuff through, but there’s no way I could afford one of those units, they’re like—”
“No charge,” Derek says, annoyed but doing his best not to show it.
Stiles’s mouth hangs open, his jaw slack. Then his surprise gives way to heavy skepticism, his head tilting to the side and his eyes narrowing and his mouth settling into a grim line.
“What’s the catch?” he asks.
Derek rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and levels a flat stare at him.
Stiles’s hands come up and begin moving wildly, his face expressive as ever. “You can’t just offer me a friggin’ apartment free of charge and not expect me to be suspicious as hell, man! You never offer me anything!”
“So, you don’t want it, then?”
“Whoa, I didn’t say that,” Stiles hurries to say. “I’m just wondering who you are and what you’ve done with my old buddy Derek Hale.”
Derek shakes his head and turns his back, walking away from him, leaving Stiles in front of the frozen foods section.
“I’ll pick up the key on Sunday?” Stiles calls after him.
Derek stops, glances over his shoulder. “I’ll be out of town until Monday.”
Stiles smirks at him. “Okay, Monday. See you then.”