A/N: Hey my loves, wrote this while avoiding all my responsibilities hehe enjoy

Derek
"Fuck." Was the first word that came out of Derek's mouth when he woke up that morning. His hand was still aching something awful despite it being five days since he broke his headboard. He was still waking up with splinters. It was probably about time he visited a doctor.

He threw on some sweats and didn't even bother touching his hair or eating breakfast. Pulling on his sneakers, he left his apartment, subconsciously checking that Stiles wasn't by some chance at his door. Each day that went by without talking to Stiles, Derek found the ache in his chest growing all the more painful, but he continued to ignore it. It'd pass. It wasn't like he was in love with Stiles or anything... Was he?

Once he was in his car he relaxed into the leather upholstery, something about being in the Camaro always relaxed Derek. He turned on some music then pulled out of the building's shared garage. It took him no longer than ten minutes to get to his doctor's practice, and he made sure the drive was leisurely.

The air was warm as summer approached, and Derek stretched out in the sunshine, wincing a little as the muscles in his afflicted hand twinged. The automatic doors of the clinic whirred open and Derek approached the reception desk and asked for an appointment with Doctor Deaton.

Luckily, Deaton had a pretty roomy schedule that day and Derek only had to sit in the sterile smelling waiting room for ten minutes before he was ushered into Doctor Deaton's office by the short, redhead receptionist.

"Derek? What have you done now?" Deaton sighed, spinning to face him in his swivel chair. Derek couldn't help but smile, he'd been in this office so many times it was like a second home.
"I think I've broken a knuckle or something." He informed him, not caring to elaborate.

Deaton rolled his eyes and gestured for him take a seat in the visitor's chair next to his. He took Derek's hand in his and bent his fingers and wrist this way and that, ignoring Derek's growls of pain.
"Go easy on me, geez."
"You've have worse injuries, Derek." Deaton chuckled.

After a few moments more of Deaton fiddling around with Derek's hand he sat back in his chair, a pensive hand on his chin.
"It appears you've broken three fingers and sprained your wrist. How did that happen may I ask?" He queried.

Derek couldn't help but scowl, this always happened every time Deaton sensed that Derek's injuries were self inflicted. There was never any point in lying, Deaton always knew.
"I punched my headboard and broke it."
"Hmm. And why did you do that?"

Derek sighed, he wasn't particularly in the mood to play shrink with Deaton, but he knew he wouldn't be leaving the office until he explained himself.
"I got mad about something, it's personal." Deaton raised an eyebrow, indicating he wasn't satisfied with the explanation. "Really, Deaton?"

"Really, Derek. I know how closed off you are and if you don't talk to someone about your problems it could seriously affect your mental wellbeing." He scolded.
"Fine. I like the guy in the apartment next to mine and I thought we were on the same page but it seems he's into casual sex with multiple people."

Deaton's eyebrows raised high on his forehead.
"Well I'm surprised to hear that. That you like someone of course." He laughed. "But I'm also disappointed."
"Why?" Derek asked, a little confused.

"I never had you pegged for a man who'd back down from a challenge, Derek."
"Excuse me?" Now Derek was really confused, where was Deaton going with this?
"When a person you want is involved with multiple people, it's up to you to show them you're the best, that you're worth them leaving the others behind."

For a moment, this idea angered Derek. Why should he have to work for it? But the sense of it all hit him. Derek knew he was better than the other guys and he knew he'd treat Stiles better than anyone on the planet. It really was up to him to show Stiles this.
"I guess." Derek admitted, not wanting to give Deaton the full glory.

"I'll guarantee that you could get this guy easily, you're a fantastic guy Derek." And with that, he bandaged up his fingers and wrist and sent him on his way. As Derek drove back to his apartment, Deaton's words rang in his head. An idea popped up in his head and he made a swift, and very illegal, u-turn to the hardware store.

Stiles
In the five days that followed he and Derek's blow out, Stiles focused on work and learning how to cook instead of constantly ordering pizza. It wasn't particularly hard until the oven was involved, that was when things got tricky. Thankfully, nothing had set on fire. Yet.

That afternoon, Stiles was driving away from his work to get to his usual diner where he ate lunch. The cafeteria food at the company he worked for was questionable to say the least. The sun shone brightly through the windscreen and he flipped down the sun visor. He enjoyed driving in this weather, and as he crawled through the lunch hour traffic he watched his surroundings out the window.

There were plenty of people walking determinedly down the sidewalk, some dressed in business attire, others in overalls and the odd few in casual clothing. Stiles greatly enjoyed people watching, conjuring up what kind of life they might live in his head. It passed the time and fed his overactive imagination.

The traffic light he was sat at was red and taking forever to turn. Stiles sighed and sat back in his seat, switching to look out the passenger window. The street was lined with stores of all kinds, but what caught his eye was the hardware store. He strained his eyes to look further into the window of the shop, in the hopes of entertaining himself. Suddenly, the door of the store flung open and out strode a determined looking Derek.

He was wearing grey sweats that looked so good on him Stiles nearly groaned aloud. He was holding some kind of hammer in his hands, it was large with an almost cylindrical head. He didn't appear to spot Stiles as he got into his car that was parked on the side of the sidewalk, illegally. Stiles wondered what it was he'd bought the hammer for, it looked like it could do some serious damage.

He watched as Derek pulled away from the sidewalk, ducking as his car zoomed past his own. Incessant beeping behind him brought him out of his reverie and he realised the light was green and use was holding up traffic.
"Sorry!" Stiles yelled out of his window and drove off as quickly as he could.

During the remainder of the drive to the diner, Stiles couldn't help but think about the image of Derek in those sweats carrying the hammer. His biceps flexing at the weight of the tool and his long muscular legs visible through the pants as he walked. It was enough to force him to sit in the parking lot of the diner to calm down. He wasn't about to walk in there with a tent in his work trousers.

Once he was presentable, he hopped out, his mood significantly deflated. After seeing Derek, he knew his crush on him hadn't gone away at all.