Matchmaker (Teen Wolf)

Written for the "I know we've never talked before but there is a friggin huge spider in my apartment can you kill it for me" au. With a twist!

Stiles likes to think that, after two years of work, he's managed to get himself a fairly decent apartment. It's close enough to the police station that he can cycle to work—because the LA traffic is hell in the mornings—and the coffee shop he passes by on his route remembers his order of a caramel brulée frappucino without him having to say it which, when it's that early, requires more effort than he's willing to exert. That doesn't mean he's any better at night, though, when he comes home after working overtime, which would explain how he misses the lump in the hallway and trips over it.

"Ow," he says, checking his palms automatically because he's had more than his fair share of childhood injuries, "I think I've got rug burn."

There's a muffled groan from the lump by his legs which, on closer inspection, looks a lot like a sleeping bag and he nudges it carefully with his foot.

"Don't do that."

Oh.

Because Stiles recognises the voice of his surly but ridiculously attractive next door neighbour and it would be just his luck to make a bad impression the first time they meet. He consoles himself with the knowledge that that probably happened already when Stiles had to foster Muffins, one of Scott's strays, who insisted on howling to the moon and pawing the dividing wall between their two apartments.

With the knowledge he can't possibly do anything worse, he beams, "Hi, I'm Stiles, I live in 205."

The guy wrinkles his nose, confused about the turn in conversation which only makes him look more adorable with his rumpled bed hair, "Derek, I'm 204."

"I know," and, wow, that sounds creepy, "I mean, I get your mail sometimes, I swear I'm not keeping tabs on you."

Derek gives him a slow once over, gaze lingering on his uniform, and Stiles thinks his voice drops by two octaves, "I'd hope not, officer."

And Stiles would love to explore that further but he's a cop first and foremost and he has to ask, "Why are you sleeping outside?"

There's probably an easy answer of 'I got locked out of my apartment' but that kind of answer almost always correlates to people like Stiles, clumsy and a little disorganised. Derek, from the little Stiles knows of him, doesn't seem like that kind of guy at all.

"There's a spider." Derek says matter of factly, face completely bland.

And, that, there, is another reason why Stiles shouldn't make assumptions so quickly.

"A spider," he says carefully, "are we talking about one the size of a small hamster with really big, furry legs who likes to chill in her web and eat passing insects?"

Derek frowns at him, "It's not funny to ridicule someone's fears."

"No, no," Stiles says quickly, because he gets that, "I am the master of being scared of stupid things, I was terrified of clowns for a good three years and it meant I couldn't go to any birthday parties at McDonald's which, when you're a kid, is how social suicide starts. It did not get better from there."

He actually laughs, which is a better reaction than Stiles had hoped for, "Sorry, I didn't meant to snap."

"It's okay, I tend to have that effect on people," he says, brushing it off, "but I just figured I should tell you that I kind of have a pet spider."

Derek looks horrified.

"Well, she's not really my pet, I'm just keeping her for a while because we busted this guy who was smuggling exotic animals and they needed somewhere to put her that wasn't the evidence locker." Which, strangely, didn't seem to reassure Derek in the slightest so he tries a different tack, "Fluffy's actually really docile and calm, all Chilean Rose tarantulas are, and she's probably more scared of you than you are of her. I mean, she's never bit me even though she had to put up with the stress of moving house and this is only the third time she's escaped this week. It's her lid, you know, turns out smugglers don't really care about a spider's cage."

For some reason Stiles cannot fathom at all, Derek doesn't ask him to stay after he's caught Fluffy and carefully taken her home.

Nor the next time.

Or the one after that.

"For Christ's sake, Stiles, this is the fourth time already!"

Stiles grimaces, tilting his head away from the phone, "Derek, I already told you, I can't do anything until the new lid for her cage arrives."

"Make it arrive faster."

"See, that," Stiles says helpfully, for future reference, "is something that police officers can't actually do. Deliverymen are a law unto their own."

Derek makes a noise that sounds like a growl before hanging up and Stiles is left staring at his phone as it reverts back to its lock screen. He waits to see if Derek is going to call back with threats to Fluffy's health but it doesn't ring so he returns to his paperwork.

When he gets back home, after two more cups of coffee because he isn't going into Derek's apartment uncaffeinated, he's not surprised to see the door to 204 wide open.

"I don't know why you're so scared of her." He says, leaning against the doorjamb, "I mean, if you knew anything about spiders, you'd know that the big ones are actually the least poisonous and, in general, spiders are more likely to run away than bite you. They're harmless, honestly."

Telling that to Derek, who's sat on his sofa dressed in a ridiculous onesie that covers him from head to toe, doesn't seem to help.

"Okay, where is she?"

"Behind the television."

The TV's switched on to some channel showing old reruns and Stiles sighs when he bends down and sees Fluffy in the corner, standing with her first two legs and pedipalps fully extended because that only means bad things.

"Spiders don't like loud noises," he says, rocking back on his heels, "they can feel the vibrations through their legs and it can be threatening to them."

"I didn't know tarantulas could feel fear." Derek doesn't sound like he's trying to be cruel, just intrigued.

"They're living things, of course they're capable of emotions."

"I know that, I just never paused to think about spiders and their feelings."

And Stiles understands that because he wouldn't have given it any thought, either, if Scott hadn't been his best friend and championed every single creature, no matter how small. As it is, though, Stiles likes to think he would've got there because he tends to root for the underdog.

They sit in silence after Derek switches off the TV, on either sides of the couch, with him reading a dog-eared version of Jane Eyre while Stiles amuses himself on his phone, looking up funny cat gifs. It's not quite friendship but they've only known each other for three days and Stiles is going to take what he can get. So, once she's calm enough, he breaks out the gloves and takes Fluffy back home without saying a word.

"You're such an escape artist," Stiles says affectionately, once she's back in her cage, "I'd buy you a better cage if you were actually mine but I don't know how long you're staying."

Fluffy ignores him, cheerfully making herself at home under a piece of bark.

"Yeah, hide in shame, you're a terrible tarantula for scaring Derek all the time."

She doesn't give him any response, not that he expects one, and he places the lid back on despite knowing it does nothing to stop her getting out.

Which is why he's woken up at three in the morning by a banging on his door.

He stays in bed for a second, wondering if he's just imagining the noise, but it only gets louder so he sighs and rolls out of bed. He shuffles over to the door, muttering about how he's too old for this bullshit but changes his mind when he sees a shirtless Derek in the hallway.

"Fluffy?" he asks, because he knows this kind of surprise isn't for him.

"She's on my kitchen counter. Again."

"Huh," Stiles says, because he's still not quite coherent, "what is it about your apartment?"

When he's in there later, trying to coax a reluctant Fluffy onto is palm and with Derek looming over him, he kind of sees the appeal. He would go to Derek's apartment every day and ogle them if he could.

"Why won't she move?" Derek asks, so close that Stiles can feel his breath on the back of his neck.

"She doesn't want to be picked up, tarantulas are fussy, sometimes."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

Derek watches him for a while longer before he sighs and says, "If she's not going to move, you're not going to be able to force her, you might as well come into the living room with me."

Stiles eyes him curiously, "Are you sure? What if she moves and we can't find her?"

"She's harmless, right?"

"Of course she is."

Derek shrugs, like he hadn't woken Stiles up ten minutes earlier, "Well, then, we can leave her be."

He's a little sceptical but then Derek makes him hot chocolate with real milk and those little marshmallows and he kind of forgets about his reservations. They go to the couch they were on earlier but, this time, they talk or, more accurately, Stiles talks.

"It's not like I don't understand it because I used to be scared of spiders, too, but there's all these myths floating around that all spiders are deadly and venomous and going to attack you on sight. That doesn't happen!" he gesticulates wildly, because this topic needs wild hand gestures and their extra emphasis, "They don't want to attack you, they just want to eat bugs and insects and, in fact, there are lots of cultures that use them as natural insecticides. And Fluffy's species is really docile and skittish, the kind you get in most pet shops as a starter tarantula."

"Then why would someone try and smuggle her?"

"Some criminals are clever, some aren't," he shrugs, because he's seen enough of them in his time, "he had some really expensive snakes and then some insects you could buy for five dollars online. It's ridiculous."

Derek nods thoughtfully, "She really is harmless, then?"

"She's got the same defense mechanisms as any tarantula: small urticating hairs on their abdomen and a mild bite but that's all. And, to be honest, she's more likely to run from danger than ever face it."

"Could I pick her up?"

"That's not a good idea," Stiles says, "I mean, you could really hurt her."

Derek stares.

"No, I'm being serious. Spiders, even the adults, can be killed by a minor fall and it's not that I don't trust you but she might get nervous and try to escape and then she's lying dead on the floor."

"I never knew this," he says, surprised, "I didn't know they were that fragile."

"Three am is the best time to learn new things."

"I don't know that much about you," Derek says, after a beat.

And Stiles can talk about a lot of things, even without a willing party joining in on the conversation so it's no surprise to him that it's six by the time he leaves. He'd donned his gloves to protect himself from Fluffy's hairs, and he's feeling pretty proud because he managed to talk to Derek for a whole three hours without doing anything overly stupid. Of course, that would be when he realises he's locked himself out of his apartment.

And because Derek's a gentleman who walked him to his door, he gets to see Stiles struggle with it before finally admitting defeat.

"Well, shit."

Derek laughs, "Why don't you come in to my apartment and I'll fix us breakfast?"

He hesitates, looking at Fluffy still in his hands, "What about her?"

"She can stay, it's not like I can keep her out."

"You are aware that, earlier this week, you were sleeping in the hallway because she was in your apartment?"

"Things change," he shrugs, smiling a little, "someone told me spiders weren't as scary as they're made out to be."

Stiles beams.

They still have a long way to go but the next time Derek finds Fluffy in his apartment, he doesn't immediately call Stiles at work and demand for him to come back and get her. Instead, he waits for him to knock on his door after he finds her missing and proposes a deal: every time Fluffy comes to visit, Stiles has to buy him dinner. And somehow that changes into them eating dinner together and then Stiles buying ingredients while Derek cooks a better stir fry than the takeaway place can.

It takes Stiles all of one month to realise they're dating.

When he tells Fluffy, she doesn't seem surprised in the slightest.

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