Happy Sterek Week!
"Under special abilities you put… fighting… werewol- Stiles this is ridiculous. Did you even- you can’t just-" Derek set the papers on the desk with more force than was strictly necessary. "Please tell me this is a joke."
"It’s a special skill!" Stiles protested, then rolled his eyes. "Okay, it’s a secret special skill. Come on, ask me the rest of the questions. I’ve only got an hour before I have to leave.”
Derek’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stared until Stiles relented and pointed to a folder to Derek’s right. Crumpling up the fake resume that Stiles had somehow had the time to create and print on good paper just to mess with him, Derek flipped the folder open and was surprised to find something that looked… well, professional. He skimmed over the lines, but everything looked to be in order.
"So?" Stiles asked softly, and something in Derek’s chest twisted. He looked up.
"It’s good," he replied, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. Stiles’ smile was caught somewhere between pleased and sad. "So, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek began. “Can you tell us what advantages you will bring to our company?”
"I’m quick," Stiles said, almost before Derek had finished asking. "I learn fast, and I get work done fast and more importantly, accurately. I’m good with research; reading volumes of material looking for the little things has practically been my hobby since high school. It would be great to be able to use my skills at a job like this."
Derek nodded and tried to dredge up some typical interview questions, the sort that Stiles was likely to be asked. He tried, he really did, but his mind just kept wandering back to the idea that Stiles was going to be applying for a real job now. One that would probably send him on cases around the country, and Derek might not see him for long stretches of time. Derek might not see him at all for years. The more he thought about it, the less okay he realized he was with the whole plan.
"Derek?" Stiles asked, gently. When Derek met his gaze, something painfully akin to loss coiled in his gut. "Are you okay?"
Swallowing, Derek nodded, but it deteriorated into a little shake of his head. “I don’t want you to go,” he said quietly.
After a moment of just staring at Derek, unable to get him to look back up again, Stiles clambered to his feet. He gingerly touched the edge of the resume and Derek’s fingers went slack, allowing him to remove the papers. Stiles laid them neatly back atop the still open folder, and then stroked a hand over Derek’s head. He chased the action with a kiss to Derek’s forehead as he leaned across the desk.
"Okay," he agreed. "It’s okay. We’ll work it out. Promise."