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It was late on a Tuesday afternoon when Stiles met Isaac Lahey. She was printing one last worksheet for Erica’s grade four class when he burst into the printing room, his hair dripping into his eyes. Looking at him, Stiles sighed.
“Is it raining again?”
The high school boy looked up from where he was trying to dry his hair without wetting anything else and nodded.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
“Ma’am,” Stiles corrected automatically. The young man didn’t even blink.
“Ma’am,” he repeated, nodding. “I’m Isaac Lahey, I’m here to pick something up for Mr Boyd?” he added, turning the statement into a question. Stiles nodded, turning to fish through a pile of pages on the table beside her.
“He doesn’t usually print things this late,” she mused as she searched.
“It’s actually early,” Isaac said from behind her. Even without turning to see him, Stiles could hear the grin in his voice.
“This is for tomorrow,” he continued, like he was sharing a secret. “He has a date with Ms Reyes tonight and wanted to get everything out of the way.”
Stiles turned to him with a raised eyebrow.
“And he told you this himself, did he?” she asked, amused. Isaac flushed.
“Not exactly,” he hedged. “I may have overheard him talking to one of the other teachers about it.”
Stiles shook her head and finally managed to pull Boyd’s work out of the pile.
“Here we are,” she said, handing it to Isaac. “The next time you come here you’ll have to tell me how Mr Boyd’s date went.”
Isaac looked delighted as he left the room.
It became something of a routine. At least twice a week, more if Isaac could wrangle it, Stiles opened the door to the printing room to find the student waiting outside with a new order for another teacher. The first time it happened, Isaac had greeted Stiles with a cheerful, “Good morning, ma’am!” and Stiles had corrected him with a “Sir.” Isaac’s face had gone momentarily blank and Stiles felt himself tense before the boy just nodded determinedly and said, “Sir.” Since then, Isaac had made it his personal mission to greet Stiles with the correct pronouns every time he came to the printing room. He only got it right about half the time and every time he didn’t, he scowled and huffed as though taking a personal offence. When Stiles had asked him why, he had explained, “Because I want to get it right. It’s not fair to you if I don’t.” Touched, Stiles had informed him that it didn’t matter so much that he got it right, as it did that he tried. Isaac had perked up immensely after that and, while he wasn’t happy when he got it wrong, he had stopped sulking about it.
It had been a few days since he had seen Isaac and today, for the first time, Stiles found himself wishing he wouldn’t come by. He kept looking at the clock, but it seemed to be moving deliberately slowly today. It was only lunch time, which meant that he still had three hours before he could escape. If he could make it those three hours without Isaac coming to the printing room, he might make it out with his dignity intact.
Obviously, Stiles had done something terrible in a past life for which he was being punished, because at that moment, a knock rang out from the door and it swung open to reveal Isaac Lahey. His face lit up when he saw Stiles and he closed the door behind him against the loud bustle of the full corridor.
“This time I know I’ll get it right,” he enthused. Stiles grimaced.
“Don’t be too sure about that,” he muttered. Isaac’s smile slipped and he frowned, pausing before hesitantly saying, “Sir?”
Stiles turned to him, his skirt swishing around his knees as he moved.
“When I woke up it was a she-day,” he explained. “And now it is not.”
He didn’t have to explain any further. Isaac’s face crumpled. Stiles sighed.
“Usually I know better than to do something like this,” he muttered. “But I just felt so good this morning.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and groaned before shaking himself slightly and turning a tight smile on Isaac.
“Anyway, you didn’t come here to hear me complain,” he said. “What can I do for you, Isaac?”
Isaac was frowning and didn’t seem to notice that Stiles had spoken. When Stiles gently called his name again, he blinked and looked up.
“I, uh, I need to pick up some stuff for Ms Reyes,” he said sounding distracted. Stiles nodded, turning away to find Erica’s worksheet. He tugged it out of its pile and turned to hand it to Isaac, who took it slowly.
“Um, I don’t know if this is going too far,” he said slowly, without looking at Stiles, “but Mr Hale, the science teacher? He usually has a spare set of clothes in his office. I think it’s in case any experiments go wrong.”
His eyes flicked up to Stiles’ and then down again quickly.
“He’s be happy to lend them to you, if you wanted,” Isaac finished. Stiles was touched.
“Thank you, Isaac,” he said gently. “But it’s only a few more hours, it should be fine.”
Isaac nodded quickly and backed away to the door.
“I think break’s ending,” he said. “Bye, sir.”
He ducked out of the office before Stiles could say anything else and Stiles watched him go, a fond smile on his face. He had been honest when he had told Isaac that he didn’t need a change of clothes; it was only a few more hours and he had been through worse. But as he moved around the printing room, he started to hate the swish of his skirt around his legs more and more, until finally, he was walking out the door before he had even made a conscious decision to do so.
Isaac hadn’t mentioned where Mr Hale’s classroom was, but he had said that he was a science teacher, so Stiles made his way to the science labs with a modicum of confidence. Pausing when he reached the row, he smiled slightly. It appeared that luck was on his side.
“Hello, Isaac,” he called out as the boy stepped out of one of the labs. Isaac jumped and turned in surprise, looking almost guilty. Stiles raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not doing something you shouldn’t be, are you?” he asked dryly. Isaac flushed.
“No, Sir,” he said quickly. “I just had to get something from Der – Mr Hale.”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the room he had just left, and Stiles followed the movement to the closed door. He swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous.
“Is, uh, is he in there?” he asked. Isaac blinked at him before nodding quickly.
“Yes, sir,” he said. Stiles nodded slowly, and now it was his turn to flush.
“I just came to see if, uh, I could take him up on your offer,” he said awkwardly. Isaac looked blank for a moment before he brightened.
“That’s great,” he said eagerly, just as the door swung open behind him.
“Isaac, you know that you should be –“ the man standing in it began before he cut himself off when he saw Stiles.
“Uh, hi,” Stiles said, lifting a hand in an awkward wave and immediately wanting to slap himself. Still, he bulled ahead.
“I’m Stiles, I work in the printing room,” he explained. Mr Hale smiled suddenly.
“Isaac talks about you a lot,” he said, looking amused. To Stiles’ surprise, Isaac elbowed him in the ribs.
“Der,” he muttered, flushing.
“Uh, right,” Stiles said. “Well, I don’t know exactly what he’s told you about me, but I seem to find myself wearing the wrong clothes today.”
Mr Hale looked blank for a second before his eyes widened in realisation.
“Isaac said that you might want to borrow some clothes, but he didn’t say why,” he said, straightening up from where he had been leaning against the doorjamb.
“Here, let me just go and see what I have. Isaac,” he added, turning to the boy sternly, “go to class.”
Isaac pulled a face but nodded as Mr Hale turned to go into his classroom, before he smiled up at Stiles.
“I’ll see you later, Mr Stilinski,” he said brightly before darting off across the quad. Stiles watched him go, feeling slightly bemused, before a soft cough pulled his attention back to the classroom. Mr Hale was standing in the doorway again, a pile of clothes in his hands.
“I’m afraid they’re not the most fashionable things,” he said, grimacing, “but they should fit well enough.”
Stiles accepted them from him with a grateful smile and followed Mr Hale’s arm as he pointed into his office.
“You can just get dressed in there,” he said. Stiles thanked him again quietly and quickly ducked into the small room, getting dressed as fast as possible. Of course, this meant falling over the pants and crashing to the floor, but he could tell himself quite believably that Mr Hale hadn’t heard him, and he finished getting dressed slightly more carefully than before. When he stepped out again, Mr Hale was sitting at his desk, scribbling on some paper.
“Uh, thank you, Mr Hale,” Stiles said awkwardly, still clutching his dress to his chest. Mr Hale looked up at him and blinked.
“Derek,” he said abruptly. “Sorry, I didn’t… My name is Derek.”
Stiles bit back a smile.
“Stiles,” he returned. “Stiles Stilinski.”
Derek blinked at him.
“Stiles Stilinski?” he repeated slowly. Stiles rolled his eyes, feeling much better in his new clothes.
“You don’t even want to know my real first name,” he said dryly. Derek smiled suddenly.
“Isaac mentioned it was a mouthful,” he admitted. Stiles at him.
“How does he know it?” he demanded, a little over-dramatically, but, well, he worked hard to keep his name from the general public! “Wait, he told you what it is?"
He frowned slightly.
"Why?"
“Ah,” Derek said awkwardly, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck before he dropped it onto his desk again. “Isaac is my charge,” he explained slowly. “He’s been living with me for about two years, since his father died."
His face twisted and Stiles wondered absently if there was more to the story there.
"Dr Deaton asked us not to advertise it because he was worried people might see it as a less than savoury relationship.”
Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles felt offended on his behalf.
“That’s bullshit,” he said bluntly. Derek offered him a small smile, accompanied by a what-can-you-do shrug.
“It is what it is,” he said. Stiles nodded slowly, suddenly not quite sure what to say.
“I, uh, I should get back to the printing room,” he said, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder. Derek blinked and nodded, seeming to jerk back into himself.
“Right,” he said quickly. “And I should get back to my marking.”
Stiles nodded slowly, walking backwards to the door.
“Thank you,” he said suddenly. “For the clothes. They really help.”
Derek smiled again.
“It’s no problem,” he said. Stiles grinned back at him and turned to find the door handle.
“Stiles?”
He turned back at his name, vaguely surprised to see Derek staring at him, a blush staining his cheeks.
“Would, uh… would you like to grab coffee sometime?” he asked, the words falling out in a rush. Stiles stared at him for a second before a slow smile spread across his face.
“Well you’ve seen me at my worst,” he joked. “There’s nowhere to go but up, right?”
At their wedding two years later, in his best man’s speech, Isaac proudly took credit for getting them together and, much to his delight, Derek and Stiles led the crowd in a toast to him.