Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lydia, I can’t do this,” Stiles groaned, clawing his hands through his bird’s nest hair, which corresponded to different angles depending on how many hours he’d slept the night before. Judging by the odd 30 degree angle he’s sporting, he's gotten two hours, max.

For the last few months the entire precinct has been working on a case involving some kind of drug ring -- Stiles hadn't been part of the investigation since the main investigation was handed off to a different detective who was a specialist on drug cases involving gangs. But that didn't stop Stiles from sticking his nose in it anyways. So here he was, about a week or so into the investigation (that he wasn't suppose to be part of), before Lydia had caught him. Now he was here, with dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up everywhere on a lousy Monday morning being asked to be part of the official investigation. 

Stiles would have been happy, if it had been a legitimate job. But no, of course he wasn't that lucky. Instead, Lydia had decided to put him in the case on a different level. 

Lydia Martin paced a few steps ahead of Stiles, facing the windows of her office as her heels clicked on the hard tiling floor. With a click of her tongue, she whirled around to face him using only the heel of her (black, thigh-high, leather, his brain supplies, unhelpfully) stiletto boots and Stiles watched in fascination at what appeared to be the sharpest and most dangerous pair of shoes he had ever seen. Lydia perched her hands on her hips, and pulled her fierce red lips into a thin line. Topped of with the full uniform (minus the peaked cap), Lydia was intimidating as ever. Without a word, she spun around and quickly picked up a small black binder from her desk and started leafing through it, “That’s Captain Martin to you Stilinski,” she said with a small frown and a flippant shrug, “And no, orders are orders. Nothing I can do about it now Detective Stilinski.”

Stiles pouted, actually pouted. He was a twenty-five year old grown-ass man for Christ’s sake, he really shouldn’t be doing that, but he was. “Captain Martin," he said as sincerely as possible even with the urge to roll his eyes, "Please. Come on, I’m begging you. Do me a little favor, please? I know I was wrong to look into the case even though I wasn't technically assigned to it, blah, blah, blah, but I don't deserve this, ” Stiles batted his eyes at her exaggeratedly while still pulling off the pout.

To Stiles' displeasure, Lydia-I'm-too-professional-for-your-shit-Martin didn't even spare a pity glance at him.

Instead, she stopped pacing and trained her eyes on the unlabeled binder which had been lying on her unsurprisingly tidy desk. She quickly skimmed through the first sections, paused on a page, and flipped it around to show Stiles, “See? It’s official. Colonel Greenberg,” she said with an obvious roll of her eyes, “Approved it. It’s got his signature and all that. If you can even call that a signature.” she said with a slight huff and an indignant sniff. Obviously, Lydia — no Captain Martin— was still bitter over the fact that Greenberg somehow managed to get a job in the city and was assigned as her immediate superior.

Stiles scoffed, “Do you really think this is a good idea if it came down from Greenberg? He scratched at his hair a little more. Ah, perfect. Now he’s really going to look like the lone survivor of an apocalypse. Stiles leaned back onto the cabinet across from her desk and scrubbed at his face, “Come on, please, for old time sake? Can you just give your brief best-friend-of-two-weeks-in-high-school a break Lyds?”

Lydia visibly softened at her nickname from high school, but the small frown still lingered on her face, “Stiles..." she began gently, "No can do. This time it’s direct orders from the commissioner and this is a big case,” she managed a small smile for a second, then it turned into a shit-eating grin, “You’re the only one on the squad who could pull off the malnutritioned, burnt-out college student look.”

Stiles sputtered in mock-offense, “I thought you wanted me in on the case cause I was one of the best and brightest in this rundown mediocre excuse of a Police Department?”

"Yeah because having a masters in both criminology and biochemical engineering is really useful as a detective," Lydia said with an affectionate roll of her eyes.

Stiles sputtered, "It actually is! Do you know how many times that has come into use? During the last stint operation I had to go in and collect all the slime samples from that kitchen and— you know what? Never mind, but next time see if I'll bail your ass out when some incompetent intern fucks up the sample again," He said with huff. Then his face morphed into a more devious expression,"My thesis on the male circumcision was exceptional and you know it. You're just jealous that Finstock gave me a higher grade than you," Stiles retorted.

Lydia grinned up at him with a mirrored devious glint in her eye and a casual shrug of her shoulders, “Oops, guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

She quickly sidestepped him and managed to hook one arm around Stiles’. She leaned her head sideways onto his shoulder, and for a moment she looked like the lonely girl who had lost her friends, her boyfriend and her carefully constructed reputation all at once. Stiles gently patted her shoulder as best as he could with his other arm before Lydia became Lydia again and she shoved him out her office.

Before Stiles could turn around and protest, Lydia was already blocking the entrance of her office with her slender frame.

She leaned her surprisingly small body on the frame of the door, holding the heavy wooden door open casually, “I’ll pay you back in beers the next time the department goes to McCall’s for dinner,” Lydia said with a genuine smile as she closes the heavy office door in his face, and Stiles could hear her cackling in her office. Of course. Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend and all around bro for life, now co-owns a pet-themed family restaurant that definitely does not serve alcoholic beverages of any sort.

Stiles muttered under his breath as he walked over to his desk and plopped onto his chair. With a sigh, Stiles spun around on his chair and thought about how he was going to pull off being a college student again. He did enjoy the perks that came with college like the around-the-clock coffee chains and attractive lacrosse players, but the not so perks of college stood out to him more. There are only so many douchebags, frat parties, and actual cumulative final exams a person could stand in their lifetime, and he's just about hit the wall. Not to mention the cramming and making friends part of college, which by the way, gross.

Stiles leaned back on his office chair and the chair creaked ominously. As he leaned back a further degree, the chair had some kind of malfunction, because he managed to faceplant on the floor.

He knew it. The BHPD was definitely a rundown excuse of a police station.

***

A day later he found out that he wasn’t going to have a partner while on this trip, not specifically, no. This was unusual for his department, but this case was a unique case. Apparently there were suppose to be a few private contacts that will help him along the way, and they’ll contact him when they need to, which means Stiles wasn’t high enough on the ladder to get ‘security clearance’. After Lydia debriefed him on that matter, he let that thought sink in. This was his life now. This was basically a really terribly written sequel to some buddy cop/spy movie. Ugh.

This all just means that Stiles is royally screwed if he’s ever in real trouble. Hopefully he won't be. 

Two days after the whole scene in Lydia’s office, he was entrusted with the black binder of doom, which, okay, he admits he named it (but give him a break. He was twenty-five, not fifty). It turns out the black binder of doom really was the black binder of doom because this case is actually serious shit. No longer the typical vandalism case or the petty theft cases that he was usually assigned to because apparently getting demoted to college student status somehow meant he was joining the big kids.

According to the multiple reports filed by various different eyewitnesses and secondhand observers, someone was bringing in some hardcore narcotics. The narcotics were manufactured to look like adderall and various types of migraine pills, which were already flooding in a typical college setting, but this drug had some nastier side effects. Someone had been spreading them around the school at parties and within a week, students would be puking their guts out and be utterly unable to move more than 2 feet without collapsing. Things really got serious when one of the college students went home after getting sick and actually died. Actually fucking died from this drug. 

Yeah. Serious shit.

Apparently Berkeley believes that one of their students is distributing all the drugs, and now Stiles has to find out who’s the head and take them in.

Just three days later, he was sent in.

***

That first morning he had decided to put together an extremely typical college outfit. He wore a t-shirt from a band he liked way back in high school and hoped that the band was at least ironically cool now. He opted for his most comfortable pair of dark jeans and then to top it all off, pulled on an excessive Berkeley hoodie that he had gotten from Grandma Stilinski a couple years ago, when he was still in college. It was so damn loud, with the big bold letters of 'BERKELEY' jumping out at him not once, not twice, but four times, but he really couldn't refuse it because grandma Stilinski was just really proud, okay? Thankfully the hoodie was warm, which made up for the tacky lettering and it hopefully made him blend in further with the UC spirit.

Before he could make any better decisions with his life, he decided to pull on his favorite beanie and his thick glasses that he wore on his days off. If he was going undercover as a teenager, he might as well make dumb decisions for the first day of college and play it off like a hipster. It's his secret dream, okay? Stiles just really wants to be a hipster for like, two days alright? That and the fact that this hat and glasses combo made him feel like a superhero trying to hide his secret identity -- he really had this Clark Kent or Peter Parker mojo going on. Which wasn't far off now that he was thinking about it, he really isn't just a college kid — he is also a purveyor of truth and justice— and Jesus Christ, he's really going to stop now.  

After getting all that ready in his normal apartment, Stiles shoved a large black suitcase into the back of his jeep and took off for Berkeley, again.

When he parked right outside the resident hall he had been given, he really couldn't believe it. Despite her usual chastisements, Lydia was kind of the best okay? Because somehow Stiles had landed himself in the brand new residence hall, the one that was built only a couple of years back to accommodate for the new flood of incoming college students. All the upperclassmen were upgraded into better buildings, while the freshmen were assigned the old residence halls in the name of 'tradition'. This particular building was the newest of the bunch and was really meant for the teachers and the occasional grad students that happen to still live on campus. He had really lucked out. Stiles made a mental note at the back of his mind to thank Lydia profusely and give her a hug once he gets back.

As he parked in the parking lot adjacent to the new building, he gave a quick scan in his rear-view mirror and saw the typical college setting. There were a few students lugging around backpacks and suitcases. Stiles took off his beanie, gave his messy hair a final solid pat down, and placed the beanie back on his head and stepped out of his jeep to opened the trunk. He grabbed his large black suitcase out of his car and started to lug everything he had with him. Besides his usual college junk and his normal junk, there was also police junk. A few handguns (officially approved by some secret contract between the police department and UC Berkeley), a few rounds, and lots and lots of paperwork. You know, to keep him company when he got tired of doing college level homework and studying. All of a sudden it seemed less exciting that his room was on the top floor.

Before he could even step onto the sidewalk leading up to the residence hall, a dark shadow seemed to block his entire way. Stiles stumbled as he tried to pull his suitcase in a straight line and nearly ran straight into someone.

“Hey, no offense dude, but can you watch where—,” Stiles looked up and saw— he saw the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. The guy had the most chiseled face he had ever seen, and the jawline— Jesus Christ that jawline. The man was mostly cleanly shaven, with the exception of the slight five o’clock shadow, and had the most dramatic eyebrows know to man.

He was wearing a casual pair of grey-tinted pressed trousers, a white button up shirt and a light grey-tinted suit vest hanging open just the right amount. This guy had the gall to unbutton the top two buttons on his shirt, exposing his slightly hairy chest. Even more so, he dared to roll his sleeves up his forearms — exposing masculine, but not too hairy arms that could do things to Stiles' rampant imagination. And Jesus. He could write poetry about those arms. Given, they would be very bad poetry since he wasn’t an English major, but holy god this man was attractive. Even with the excessive layers of loose clothing, Stiles could make out the muscles he packed underneath.

This guy was the real deal. Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if this guy turned out to actually be Clark Kent or Bruce Wayne or even some crazy hot Greek God because those pecs and those arms were definitely way too perfect to belong in everyday life. Stiles was pretty sure he looked like a cooked potato next to this hot piece of ass.

But it wasn’t the guy’s body that made him do a double take, or a triple take. Stiles knew a hot guy when he saw one, but come on, he isn't a superficial dip shit. Okay he was, but that's not the point. Because it felt like all the air was knocked out of his lungs when they locked eyes. The hot guys eyes were greenish-hazel, almost changing color against the typical sunny California backdrop. However, his eyes appeared to be strategically hidden under a pair of dark rimmed glasses, as if purposely hiding behind them to ward off prying eyes. The guy must have been really used to all this by now, because this goddamn GQ model just stood there with arms held casually behind his back with only a raised eyebrow as Stiles gaped at him with his mouth open.

“ I—,” Stiles stumbled, “Um. Hi are you—,”

Don't say single, don't say single, don't put your fucking foot in your mouth Stilinski, his brain helpfully supplies—

“This is private property for graduate students and professional staff only,” the glorious model cut in with a small quirk of his eyebrow.

Stiles paused for a second before understanding what he was implying, then bunched up his eyebrows, “Um. I— I think you’re mistaken. This is my residence hall.”

“You’re a graduate student?” Attractive eyebrows asked with a tone of utter disbelief as his eyebrows climbed even further up his forehead. Stiles should honestly be offended but the hot guy didn't seem to be trying to insult him, just seemed genuinely surprised, “You look like you’re seventeen.”

Stiles blanched and scoffed at the same time, while trying to look more offended than he actually was, “Yeah well. I’m—,” he bit his lip so he wouldn't run his mouth and blow his cover, “I’m eighteen actually. Perfectly legal, too.” Stiles had no idea why he added in the last bit and he hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

Mr. hot-eyebrows seemed to pick up on that as well, although he didn't look all that offended. Instead, the roman statue blocking up the sidewalk crossed his arms and said with a taunting grin, “The University has ethical policies against student-teacher relationships,”

Stiles felt his cheeks grow impossibly hotter, “God. No, that was not what I was implying,” he swore his cheeks were actually glowing and Mister-mens-wearhouse-model obviously noticed, since he tried to hide his bashful smile behind his hand. Stiles got the smallest glimpse of his teeth, and to his delight, this walking, talking, Alpha male had bunny teeth, huh. Cute.

Stiles tried again, trying not to stumble on his words, “Just. Jesus. Could you move please? You’re kind of blocking up the passage and I really need this sidewalk to roll my suitcase on.”

“Show me your schedule,”

“Excuse me?”

“Show me your schedule. To prove that you’re suppose to be in this residence hall,” he said as he stepped a little closer, “I’m taking over as the official coordinator for this hall since the RA is still back in New York trying to sort out some of his private business or something...” he paused, “Anyways, show me your schedule. If you're in the wrong place, I can help you find your way so you can get everything unpacked in time for class tomorrow.”

Stiles tried not to read too much into his words but it was all too good to be true. Attractive, nice, and helpful? Stiles may as well have hit the jackpot. But he still couldn't get over how this guy thought he was seventeen. He begrudgingly pulled out his schedule from his back pocket with more force than necessary and showed it to the guy.

The guy stepped a few steps closer and Stiles tried not to feel self-conscious with all that muscle six inches away in his face; he swears he could feel this guy's breath on his shoulder. God, Stiles felt like he was fifteen again, crushing on that rich boy whose name he didn't know that lived up at the Beacon Hills Preserve, the area where all the other rich families lived. The rich boy was probably too old, too attractive, and way too wealthy to be paying attention to small little fifteen year old Stilinski who had still been a jumble of lanky limbs and still had been too skinny for his own good.

But that never stopped him from poking around in the Preserve.

"How do you pronounce that?" the guy said, flicking his blue-green gaze from the paper to Stiles, which quickly drew Stiles out of his thoughts and back to the moment.

"What?"

Hot underwear model scowled, "Your name can't really be Przemysław Stilinski right?"

Stiles gaped, mouth hanging open.

Never in his entire life has anyone outside of his family pronounced his name correctly, or even close to correctly, "How did you know how to pronounce that?" Stiles asked incredulously. The guy in front of him looked a little sheepish, and mumbled something that sounded like, "I read a lot."

"Huh."

The guy in front of him took one final look at the printed schedule, and then glanced back at Stiles, looking him up and down. The really hot guy's gaze made its way down and he paused slightly at the loud BERKELEY hoodie and Stiles could swear he saw the slight quirk of his mouth. The guy's gaze made its way back up to Stiles, and finally settled on his face, as if he still couldn't believe he was at least eighteen. Which, honestly? Stiles was a twenty-five year old grown ass man. Stiles tried to make himself look slightly less like a teenager, but obviously wasn’t succeeding as this guy huffed and offered Stiles' schedule to him. Stiles made a grab for the schedule, and tried to assure himself that his heart didn’t start beating a little faster when their fingers touched for a brief moment. 

Stupid, stupid heart, Stiles grumbled in his head, it was totally betraying him by beating so quickly.

“Satisfied?” Stiles said as he put his schedule back into his back pocket.

The guy looked anything but satisfied. Instead he grunted, “Fine. But I’m keeping an eye out for you. I'm pretty sure this residence hall is for graduate students and staff only."

"Could just be an honest mistake on the school's part," Stiles said with what he hoped was a casual shrug. 

The guy's eyebrows bunched together, "I swear you could pass for a high school freshmen from certain angles.”

“Certain angles, really? Are you checking me out?” Stiles felt the flirty words roll out of his mouth and instantly regretted it as he felt his face start to heat up again. He was about to mentally smack himself before he noticed mister hot pants was also at a slight loss of words, "That—, that's not what I meant—Jesus. I just mean you look—"

Stiles was satisfied that his little comment made this attractive model guy actually falter a little, "Hot as hell?" He supplied a little cockily, more as a joke than anything else. 

"—Like someone I knew," the well dressed guy said looking a bit flushed, “and that would just be very... inappropriate actually,” the guy finished a bit lamely.  

“Oh yeah?” Stiles felt himself getting a little braver for no apparent reason, “And why’s that?” he said with his best flirty voice, which if he was to be honest, was about as sexy as a cow chewing cud.

The guy certainly thought that as well as his eyebrow climbed further up his forehead and graced Stiles with an unimpressed expression, “Really? That’s your game? Cause that was weak.” He said with a small smile as he started to loosen up.

This time Stiles actually felt himself heat up, but he's no longer feeling embarrassed or indignant from the guy's words, “That— That was not my game. You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he pouts, playing along. Then Stiles lights up again. "I've decided I'm gonna get to know you better! You're interesting, and you're also 'hot as hell'," he said with sarcastic smile.

“As an Ethics Professor, I have to say this is by far the worst, and most unethical, first-interaction I've had with any student,” the guy, the Professor, said with a raised brow and a small twitch of his lips.

"You're a professor?" Stiles said in disbelief, his eyes widening. He really shouldn't have been surprised because everything added up: the student-teacher relationship comment, the 'taking over for the RA' and even his professor-y outfit. Damn, he really thought this guy was just another RA or some poor grad student assigned the unfortunate job of helping freshmen move in. 

Stiles bites his lips to try and cover his surprise, and changed the topic. “I’m Stiles, short for 'Stilinski' by the way, not Przemysław", he added with a slight wince. He held out his hand for the guy to shake. The professor seemed to frown at his name, but didn’t make a comment about it, “Professor Hale,” the other man said while taking his hand in a firm, professional handshake.

Stiles was just about to say something when another voice from the other side of the residence hall yelled at their direction. He and Professor Hale both looked over in the direction and Stiles saw a guy with a small blur of wavy blond hair call out, “Hey Derek!”

Professor Hale rolled his eyes, and gave Stiles a parting glance and small wave before jogging towards the voice.

Stiles was so not checking his ass out as Professor Derek Hale was leaving. Oh god, at this rate, if he wasn't going to get arrested for snooping around, he might as well get arrested for sexually harassing Professor Hale. Secretly. In his mind. God, he really needed to tone down the pervy comments, it wasn't even the first day of school yet.

Stiles finally pulled his suitcase up onto the sidewalk and made his way into his room, while totally not thinking about Professor Hale's attractive everything. From his surprisingly pleasant personality to his particular sense of humor. He was also definitely trying not to think about how Professor Hale was totally out of his league. Or how inappropriate it would be now that he was a student.

Holy shit. He was screwed.

Chapter Text

Stiles dragged his suitcase all the way up to the fourth floor, highest floor on his particular section of the new residence hall, all the while still thinking about Professor Hale. There was just something about Professor Derek Hale that bothered him, okay? He really felt like he was starting to develop a crush because just saying the name ‘Derek’ in his head now made his stomach do a funny little flip. He already knows he’s pining, but to be so caught up with someone he met just five minutes ago, is just a bit desperate.

But there’s just something about Derek Hale.

Ugh, there’s that flipping feeling again, Stiles thought, then shivered.

He sighed as he heaved his large suitcase and several bags up the flights of stairs -- which, by the way, the building really needed to install an elevator or something because for some reason, it was seventy-five degrees, which to him, was way too warm; he was actually sweating like a pig, which must have looked great to the super attractive professor. Also, insert creative pun and/or political commentary on police and pigs. Yeah, Stiles has basically heard them all. 

For someone who grew up in Beacon Hills, which is more North, Berkeley was fifteen degrees hotter than what he was used to. If he was still in high school, by early September Lydia would have donned a lovely crimson colored sweater, and Stiles would have ranted to Scott about her beautiful doesn’t-exist-in-nature strawberry blonde hair and made goo goo eyes at her all throughout Chemistry and English, because back then he didn’t realize he was gay. Or maybe bi. He wasn’t really sure at this point, because he’s been too busy caught up in detective work to worry about his own sexuality most of the time.

Which probably says something about his love life, or lack thereof. His love life, or more accurately, his sex life, was entirely non-existent. The last time he can remember going out on a date was -- wait.

The last time he had gone out on a date was probably way back in his senior year of college maybe, which was at least two, if not three years ago. God, maybe this was the reason why he was so hung up on that Professor. Given, Professor Hale is totally the hottest professor in the history of professors and has a winning personality to match, but he can’t even begin to fantasize hooking up with him. Professor Hale was way too attractive to be paying attention to him, especially if he thinks Stiles looks seventeen and completely off-limits.

Screw Professor Hale. Screw hot people in general. Screw all the hot people in the worl-- Great, now his imagination’s really going to go wild.

Not that Stiles could ever admit it, but if the two of them were to meet anywhere else, in a bar for example, there was no way in hell Derek would approach him. Okay, he could probably admit something as sad as that, because something similar had happened to him before. Once. Twice. Or maybe five times, if he counted correctly. He remembers one time in particular when Lydia and the squad (police force plus Allison and Scott) met in a downtown club. There was a really attractive guy who hit on him on the dance floor, but when they got back to the bar where the lighting was brighter, the guy freaked out and thought Stiles was sixteen. He then laughed in Stiles’ face when Stiles told him he was actually twenty-four.

If Stiles was at a bar, there would be no doubt that he’d be sitting with Scott in the shady armpit of the bar, drunk, crying and dishin’ out shit on all his co-workers. Oh, Jackson would be so pissed. And Lydia -- lovely Lydia would be catching up with Allison and secretly comparing each other boyfriends ahem lackluster makeout skills. Undoubtedly, Jackson would still win because Jackson drove a Porsche, had been the most popular guy in high school, and had probably started kissing girls when everyone else thought the opposite gender still had cooties. Which is probably why the Sheriff had to come pick up Stiles on the first day kindergarten when he got in trouble for kissing some other boy, because, duh, girls had cooties. Ah, he could still remember how he flashed crazy eyes at the kid before swooped in for the kill. Luckily, the other kid was eight years old or something and didn’t know any better either.

Stiled heaved his heavy suitcase up one last time onto the top of the stairs and then finally managed to reach his floor; luckily no one else on the floor was there to watch as he stumbled with all his belongings. He unlocked the door with one hand while holding onto a backpack, a small bag of junk food and a massive suitcase in the other other. Once inside, he was again glad to see that no one else was in there. He remembered back to his first day of actual college, and shuddered at the thought. Luckily for Scott, he had managed to get into Berkeley on his lacrosse scholarship, and Stiles was glad to have someone he knew as his roommate. However, right as he had walked into the shared dorm room on the first day of college, he walked right in on Scott and Allison, who were very aggressively 'making out' on the bed.

Allison was just there on a friendly visit, as she was planning to leave for France to go to college. But a ‘friendly visit’ turned into smooching and making out and grabby hands and a whole lot of other stuff Stiles wished he could have unseen that day. He shuddered again and tried to shove the thought out of his mind.

Instead, he got right down to making his dorm room as cozy as possible for the next few months he was stationed here. It really felt as if he were stationed here. This time around, there was no one else in his room, and everything was clean and empty and...silent. He almost wished he had someone to talk to or someone to hang out with on the weekends.

Stiles then remembered that he wasn't really a student here and really didn't have to do homework and could probably fail every class and go to bars every weekend if he wanted. ‘Cause Beacon Hills was only a thirty minute drive away. And ‘cause he's twenty-five. He frequently had to remind himself of that.

He then proceeded to drag in all the baggage he brought with him and swung open the large white closet door located on the right side of the room. He instantly pulled out all the cop stuff and stashed them below a heavy pile of blankets in the closet. Even if he were here undercover, he really didn't want to get into any trouble with the RA, especially if the RA was Professor Hale, for stashing a bunch of firearms and other police equipment in his room.

He tossed the bag of junk food onto the coffee table, which was right next to the closet, and then tossed what was left in the suitcase on the couch. In the opposite corner of the room, right under the nice big window was a bed. It was already made, which Stiles assumed was courtesy of Lydia’s contact. Of course it was. He sank down on the too-comfortable-for-a-college-dorm bed, hugged the fluffy blue pillow to his chest and breathed in a deep sigh. He had no idea where he was going to find clues or where to even begin looking for clues.

With a huff, he forced himself back on his feet again, even though all he wanted to do right now was sleep for forty-eight hours. Sounds about right.

Instead, Stiles left his dorm and headed down the stairs to the quad. He had hoped that he would somehow run into Professor Hale again (literally run into those stone hard pecs again), but he knew he wouldn't get so lucky. He took a look around while he started to stroll around the familiar campus. Already, on the first day, there were students gathering in little cliques. Some athletic people had already changed into shorts and a t-shirt and were already pulling out the frisbee. A small group of people with a whole army of suitcases were chatting with each other in front of the other residence hall. And finally a couple of guys had their ukulele or guitar or whatever out -- and surprise, surprise -- were already strumming. And no, that was not an innuendo.

From what Stiles could see, there was a group of hipsters near the edge of the quad leaning on the small trees and a bunch of guys laying out in the grass, picnic-style, playing chess. Besides them, there were at least a few hundred other students who looked equally confused and directionally challenged.

Stiles breathed in deeply, ah-- the sweet aroma of anxiety and excitement tainted the air. He didn’t have to be a three-headed bloodhound or a werewolf or some sort of magical creature to tell. On a side note, he might have read too much Harry Potter in high school.

But there he was, on the campus of one of the largest and most diverse colleges in the entire country, undercover, as essentially himself. Basically, Lydia had called in on a personal favor, and that along with the whole ‘secret court order’ paperwork had somehow got him into Berkeley, again. He honestly wanted to know which administrator thought it was a good idea to invite him back and actually sign off on these court papers. To be honest, college for him was mostly coffee, risky decisions and sleeping in class. He still managed to graduate with honors (with Lydia's Skype tutoring sessions from Yale of course). Apparently, whatever this whole case was, Berkeley was really interested in getting it solved, which meant he was fully accepted into the school tuition-free, with an official schedule and a dorm room all to himself. He could get used to it. If only his first four years had gone this smoothly.

Stiles pulled his schedule out of his pocket and quickly skimmed through the list of classes. There was a bunch of boring ass core classes that he’s pretty sure he could pass without even having to step foot in the class, since he passed all of them with flying colors his first round of college. Especially since exams were worth about eighty percent of his overall grade, he could get away with doing just a few piece of homework here and there.

There were a few additional classes that caught his eye, like the interesting World Literature course, and he saw that somehow Lydia had managed to get him enrolled in several of his favorite courses like Criminology which was a 200-level class, and Forensic Psychology which was a 400-level class. Despite all these classes, he still managed to have a relaxed Law and Ethics seminar late in the afternoon. He just really hoped that somehow he would end up in Professor Derek Hale's class, but with hundreds of classes on campus, he seriously doubted it.

If he could always have Professor Hale around as eye candy, and get the chance to take fun classes without doing the actual homework, maybe college wouldn’t be so bad after all. Stiles seriously hoped his actual RA from New York never showed up, or was at least assigned to a different building.

Stiles shook himself, he really needed to focus on his actual job. This may seem like another year of college, but it really wasn’t. He was an actual detective now -- the job he had wanted for ages, he really can’t mess up his first big case. The fun and excitement of the first day had almost -- almost made him forget his actual purpose. It was all fun and games here at until someone gets seriously injured, or worse, killed. His job is to find out who is dealing all the drugs, not to have a good time at college. He really needed to get his head in the game.

***

Wait, he takes it back, he takes it all back, the first day was horrible. Or at least the first four class periods he's had were absolutely unbearable. Stiles wasn't paying much attention to the line-up of his classes earlier, but apparently his first few classes were all the worst: Quantitative Reasoning (math class) was first thing in the morning, followed by a Bio-Chem lab, which he had already suffered through the first time, thank you very much. After this, he has a boring-ass Highland Recreational Sports class (i.e. rock climbing) and then Spanish, which to be honest, he sucked at. He had taken French in high school, and stuttered through Slavic language studies in college, which meant he had no background whatsoever in Spanish.

This day is already much longer than he had expected. And since it was the first day of school, he would have all his classes in order to meet all his teachers and have a brief thirty-minute syllabus-driven hell. It was finally his lunch period, but in the afternoon, he would have the remainder of his four classes. God, today was just awful.

Stiles actually grunted as he made his way out of the Spanish wing of the Berkeley Language Center, partially because he was mentally exhausted and partially because the door was much heavier than he remembered. If anyone asks, he’ll just pretend he was a philosophy major and just say that he was too mentally frustrated by metaphysical elements of every day life to care about the matters of the physical world. But before he could embarrass himself by not being able to push a damn door open, a long tanned arm reached out passed his shoulder and swung the heavy door open. Stiles turned his head around his right shoulder to thank his savior, and came face to face with really handsome features, curly brown and blond hair, and pale blue eyes.

As with every time he meets even remotely attractive guys, Stiles manages to make a fool out of himself. He fumbles as the door gets pushed out too far, and trips over his feet and manages to lose his balance at the same time. Even after becoming a super badass detective, it’s safe to say that he never managed to lose his clumsy demeanor. The universe actually hates him, because this clumsy stuff rarely ever happened unless he was in the presence of some mildly attractive person.

Thankfully, the curly haired guy had a sense of coordination, because he caught Stiles around the wrist right before he plummeted to utter and total humiliation.

The curly haired guy’s blue eyes bulged, “Hey, are you alri--”

“Hi,” Stiles breathed, cutting him off. Out of surprise and amusement, the guy raised an eyebrow and then grinned, and pulled Stiles up to his feet.

Stiles noticed how he was still clutching on to this guy’s arms, and quickly let goed, “Sorry about that, the door was heavier than I thought,”

“Nah, I’ve been here two days, and from what I can tell, that door is still the toughest door,” the guy smiled and all the sudden Stiles was reminded of Scott, because this guy also looked like a damn puppy. Like a golden retriever, which --- “Hey, have I seen you before?”

The guy looked a bit confused, “Um. I don’t think so, well I certainly hope not, I’m a transfer student this year actually, from Washington," he looked at Stiles with a confused expression, then his eyes got bigger, "Oh god, sorry, was that a pick up line? 'Cause--"

Stiles let out a bemused smile, "Normally that would be a yes, but nah, I just thought I actually recognized you from somewhere. Guess not." The curly haired guy shrugged a little nonchalantly. Stiles cocked his head, trying to remember where he had seen the guy. He squinted his eyes, and realized he probably looked super ridiculous now with the beanie half-dangling on his head from the fall earlier, so he pulled it off, then he remembered where he’d seen him.

“Oh!” He snapped his fingers, “You were the one who called Professor Hale over!” He had thought the guy had lighter blond hair, which was most likely due to the sunlight. Man, this was probably Professor Hale’s type, all smiles and curly hair and blue eyes and strong cheekbones and not to mention that incredible jawline, assuming Hale was even into guys at this point. If any guy was interested in a little experimenting in college, this is probably the type of guy people would actually go for. Let’s be honest here, Stiles knew he was a mess, and people would hit on him only if they were drunk at 2 AM in a empty bar off of interstate 5.

This guy had said he was a transfer student, so he was at least eighteen. And he certainly looked eighteen, if not at least in his early twenties. Unlike Stiles, who was actually twenty-five years old, but still looked seventeen. He seriously still gets carded regularly. He was really envious of this guy, all he wanted was a non-baby face and maybe a hot significant other. And yes, 'significant other', cause he's an open-minded twenty-first century boy who isn't afraid of his own sexual orientation. 

The smile returned to the guy’s face as he appeared to recognize Stile as well, “Oh yeah! I think I saw you talking to Derek earlier,”

Stiles frowned, “You’re on a first name basis with him?”

The guy’s eyes narrowed a bit, looking confused, “You’re not? He's pretty friendly towards most people, actually.” When Stiles didn't reply, the guy cleared his throat. Stiles swears he saw a blush crawl up the guy’s face, “I’ve, um, known him-- Professor Hale for a long time,” All of the sudden, Stiles’ crazy theory about this guy being Professor Hale’s type was starting to be less crazy and more plausible. He could already feel the slightly distasteful feeling of envy that was brewing in the pits of his stomach.

Stiles shrugged casually, trying to hide his ugly emotions. He hadn't even met this guy for two minutes yet and he was already being kind of a judgmental and irrationally possessive jerk.  

“I’m Isaac by the way,” the guy said, with a small grin again, holding out his hand a bit shyly, “I’m a senior here studying criminology,”

Stiles looked up, surprised, “Woah dude, I’m studying criminology too, my name’s Stiles” he said as he took Isaac’s hand, “Except I’m a freshmen actually.”

“Thought so,” Isaac chuckled, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or offended that his dumb baby face was convincing enough to fool another student.

“You’re in my class by the way,” Isaac said nonchalantly, “In Spanish,”

“Spanish 101? Isn’t that a freshmen class?” Stiles said, confused.

“Actually, it’s my fourth language,” Isaac said a little sheepishly, “I took French and a little Italian but I wanted to learn another language.”

Stiles looked up at him, impressed, “That is actually so cool, I took French all four years in high school and here I am still, completely illiterate.”

Isaac looked at him with those sad and confused puppy eyes again, “Wait, if you’re a freshmen -- You managed to forget all four years of French over one summer?”

And, oh crap, he really needs to get his shit together, because some ordinary student is already seeing through his story, “I’m just naturally bad at languages,” he said with a forced laugh. As if that will explain anything, Stiles thought.

Luckily, Isaac bought his excuse with a nod of his head, then his eyes wandered to somewhere behind the two of them. Stiles looked over his shoulder to see what Isaac was looking at, and saw a whole slew of students flooding into one of the large glass-paned buildings. He recognized it as one of the newer dining halls.

Stiles’ stomach growled, and Isaac turned to look at him with a small tilt of his head, “I was just thinking, I have to meet some of my friends for lunch, do you wanna join us?”

Stiles thought about it, he probably could survive off the junk food for a while, but eating lunch with people is probably the best way to get into the crowd, “Yeah, where’re you going?”

Isaac’s patted him on the back wholeheartedly, and offered him a mischievous grin, “This ain’t high school no more Stiles, you and me have already paid our meal fees into this corporal machine, might as well take advantage of it,” he said with a raised brow, “We’re headin’ to the cafeteria.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow as Isaac swung one of his long arms around Stiles’ shoulder, “Professor Hale’s an English professor right?” Stiles quipped, “How does he feel about your utter disregard of the English language?”

Isaac paused a moment, then laughed. “Erica is going to love you.”

***

When he followed Isaac to the cafeteria, he saw that Isaac wasn’t heading into one of the lunch lines but to a table. Already at the small crowded table in the corner were two people -- a really pretty blond girl sitting closest to the corner and a really intimidating guy packed full of muscle sitting right across from her, providing a a solid and brooding bulky wall.

Isaac waved to them when they got closer to the table, but the two sitting at the table seemed to notice the two of them much earlier. Isaac automatically took a seat next to the intimidating looking guy, which Stiles was grateful for, and he sat next to the pretty girl with the blond hair.

“Guys, this is Stiles,” Isaac introduced, “I met him in the Language Center when he couldn’t open the door.” The girl snorted, and the other guy next to Isaac managed a slight scoff. Stiles waved his hand awkwardly in greeting, "Heyo,"

“And this,” Isaac went on as if nothing had happened, “Is Erica, my best friend turned kind-of-sister.” He pointed to the girl with the blond hair and she gave Stiles a cheeky grin. She didn't wear any makeup, but was really pretty none the less. She wore a grey sweater and had long wavy hair that seemed to go on infinitely .

Stiles actually felt comfortable with Erica's presence around, even though he could already sense her sarcastic demeanor leaking through her nice-girl act.

"And that's Boyd by the way," Erica said. Boyd gave Stiles a curt nod.

Isaac then got up to get the four of them lunch now that the lines were shorter. Stiles hadn’t told Isaac what he wanted, but right now he was so hungry he could probably eat anything. He had wanted to follow, but realized it would be awkward now that a few seconds had passed. Stiles was now sitting at a table with essentially two strangers. He wasn’t sure what else to talk about, it’s always been difficult for him to make small talk with people, either he would talk too much, or the topic would get too boring too quickly.

Stiles cleared his throat, “So are you two also transfer students?” Neither Boyd or Erica spoke for a second, and exchanged a shrug. Unable to stand the silence, Stiles cut in, for once happy that his chatty nature was good for breaking tension, “‘Cause I’m not. I’m actually a freshmen. I know I don’t look that young but I’m actually still young enough to be a student here." Oh god, he was laying it on thick, "I’m studying biochemistry and criminology by the way.”

“Oh?” Erica said with a half-amused smile, “We got ourselves a brainiac over here don’t we Boyd?” She poked Boyd on the shoulder, trying to elicit a response from him, and gave a happy grin when Boyd gave in and finally rolled his eyes.

“I’m a psychology major,” Boyd spoke up for the first time that day, “and yeah, we’re transfer students. Isaac, Erica and I all moved from Northern California,” Boyd said, with a rough and deep voice.

“I thought Isaac said he moved from Washington?” Stiles wondered.

“Oh, he meant Washington, California,” Erica clarified, “It’s near Sacramento actually. Small town though, the population’s just in the thousands.”

Stiles nodded, “So how about you Erica? What are you majoring in?”

Erica leaned back into her chair, “History,” she rolled her eyes, “It’s as bland as it sounds.”

The conversation was getting really choppy, but luckily Isaac came back with a tray of burgers and fries and the four of them dug in. With Isaac here now, it was less awkward, since he was able to bridge Stiles into Boyd and Erica’s conversation.

Erica turned towards Stiles halfway through a mouthful of burger, “Gosh I love eating with boys,” she sighs happily, “I can eat to my heart’s content without giving a crap about carbs or calories.”

"Erica,” Boyd says, “You’ve got ketchup all over your lips.”

“Gosh, fries are delicious,” Erica moaned in response, obviously trying to shove her messy demeanor in Boyd's face. Boyd frowned at her, and instead decided to press a napkin gently, in a considerate manner over her entire face. He proceeded to wipe her mouth free of ketchup even though the napkin was getting stuck directly to her face because of the sticky sauce and Erica began to cackle. Boyd didn't seem to lose his composure and went right back to dipping his fries in barbecue sauce without another word. Stiles looked at the two of them and chuckled, "You guys are so oddly cute," he said sincerely as he took a sip of soda, "You fit together well."

Erica's eyes twinkled in a wicked sense, obviously seeing the opportunity, "Oh yeah, well you should see us in bed, we certainly fit togethe--"

"Erica," Boyd and Isaac both hissed, mildly horrified, and in Boyd's case a little bit embarrassed. But the way they had cut her off was a little too fond and Erica didn't bother to be take them seriously. Erica cackled again, "Jeez. It's like I'm the only one with a sense of humor here," she said with a mockingly-indignant tone. She gave in and wiped her mouth properly with the stuck napkin, "My boyfriend's kind of the strong and silent type. If you haven’t noticed already Stiles." Boyd stared down at his drink broodingly, as if trying to burn a hole in the plastic non-eco friendly cup, “He actually thinks you’re going to whisk me away, especially since you’re my type,” Erica said with an exaggerated bat of her eyelashes. Boyd seemed to brood even further.

Stiles choked on his curly fries and let out a surprised laugh, “I really don’t think that’s possible,” he said, still chuckling, “I think I’m mostly gay actually, and you’re in luck if your type happens to be malnourished, burnt-out college freshmen,” Stiles said, quoting Lydia.

Erica rolled her eyes while Isaac let out a small laugh, and Boyd seemed to loosen up some more. “Come on, you’re not that bad Stiles, you could almost pass for a college sophomore,” she snarked, biting her lip bottom lip to keep a straight face.

Stiles bit his cheeks to prevent himself from letting out another laugh, if only they knew that he was actually twenty-five, “It doesn’t really matter anyways, I’m think I’m about as straight as Kinsey.”

“You think? You sound like you’re talking about socks rather than your sexuality,” Erica said with a mischievous grin, returning to her burger.

“Wait, wasn’t Kinsey bisexual?” Isaac chimed in pointedly, with sticky fingers. The four of them all snorted. This was the first time Stiles had talked with people who were so knowledgeable about this topic. This was also the first time he could ever be so honest about his own sexuality. Before, he had either been too busy or too self-conscious to talk about all of this, especially back in high school when the only person completely out of the closet was Danny, Jackson’s best friend. Stiles was pretty sure if Danny hadn’t been the best friend of the most popular guy at Beacon Hills high school, he would have also been picked on a few times. Now, in college, he was glad to see that the younger generation was much more accepting and much more open when it came to talking about this type of topic. He felt at ease talking to these young people, and he sincerely hoped that all of them could be friends after this whole undercover thing was over. They weren’t that far apart in age, since the three of them were all seniors.

He gave them all a big wide grin, hoping there wasn’t any food stuck in his teeth, “Guys, I’m so glad I got to meet you.” Erica gave him a cheeky but affectionate grin back which reminded him of Lydia, “Aw, come on Stiles, don’t be a sap,” she said as she abandoned her food for a second and draped her left arm over his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. Isaac gave him a closed mouth sunny golden retriever smile again, and Boyd drummed his fingers on the table before the smallest inkling of a smile appeared on his face.

The rest of lunch went smoothly as the four of them discussed anything that came to mind. To Stiles’ delight, despite not all being criminology majors, Erica and Boyd were really knowledgeable about current events.

From the brief thirty minute lunch session Stiles found out that Erica had a not-so-secret love of comic books (seriously she got all the references he dropped, even the really subtle ones), Isaac and Boyd played lacrosse back in high school, and three of them had been friends since middle school. Stiles on the other hand shared the fact that his dad was a sheriff in a small town up North and had also played lacrosse back in high school, never mind the fact he was benched all the time.

Erica and Isaac laughed at his crazy stories about his lacrosse coach, Coach Finstock, and even Boyd managed to chuckle along with the other two when he told them about Greenberg and Lydia’s rivalry, excluding all the details about cops of course.

When lunch ended, the four of them agreed to meet each other for lunch the next day, and Erica had even tried to drag Stiles along to a bar with them that night, which he refused, based on the excuse that he was only eighteen. He really didn't want to get carded and have to pull out his real ID and have his cover be entirely blown and so on. Stiles really needed to find a lead now, and even though he really wanted to hang out with these three, he hoped Erica, Boyd and Isaac would also help him on his actual task. Maybe they would know of certain things that’s been happening around campus -- or maybe not, they were recent transfer students after all.

After waving goodbye to the other three, Stiles gathered up all his remaining bags and headed out of the cafeteria, pulling out his schedule from his back pocket.

The next class on the list was the second half of his classes: World Literature, Criminology, Forensic Psychology and finally the Law and Ethics seminar. He really should have checked out all the classes Lydia signed him up for beforehand. He should have sensed that something was up when Lydia signed him up for all these cool classes. She also apparently set him up with a full schedule or 8 class units. But Stiles is pretty sure that if he talked to Lydia about it she would have made up some bullshit about how taking more classes will actually give him a better chance to interact with students and find the source of the drugs. In other words, more classes equals more friends and more friends equals more drug sources. 

Stiles pulled his beanie back on, adjusted his glasses and headed towards the 100s English building. The class was the third room on the right. He breathed in deeply -- what he needed to do right now was to focus, and solve this case as soon as possible.

He pushed open the door and his heart skipped a beat.

Professor Derek Hale was standing on the podium, looking more Godly than ever. All other thoughts fled from his mind.