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"Laura, why do I have a twitter?" Derek asked sternly when she picked up the phone.
"Been googling yourself again, Baby Bro?" Laura asked.
"Laura," he said roughly, refusing to take her bait.
"The board thought it would be good for the brand,” she stated simply.
"How long have I had a twitter?" He asked with a sigh.
"Eh, about three months."
"THREE MONTHS," he yelled through the phone.
"I told you to come to the quarterly board meeting. You were too busy communing with nature," she said flippantly.
"I was doing research for the new Hartford Estate sketches and yo--," he started cutting himself off. "I see what you did there sister. Who exactly is tweeting as me?"
"Can't tell you that Derek. Don't worry he's a gem. You have like 50,000 followers already," she said sounding distracted.
"Pretty sure impersonating someone is illegal."
"Oh and against the twitter terms of service," she said flatly. "We had your account verified ages ago. Well, gotta go," she said ending the call before he had the chance to respond.
Now how the hell had they been able to verify the account without him knowing it, he thought. He tried to put the whole thing out of his mind, but the mystery haunted him. He grumbled through the rest of the day, annoyed that he’d been cursed with such a crafty older sister. He wondered if it wasn't too late to trade her in for another model.
Over the next month, Derek found himself following...well, himself. The Kid (as Derek had started referring to his twitter double) knew way too much about him. Derek could only guess it was Laura's doing. He would often tweet about mundane things like photos from Derek's favorite restaurant, a movie he had been thinking of seeing but hadn't actually seen yet, observations about color or cool buildings he'd admired, and one one particularly eerie Tuesday as Derek sat down with a stack of books on incorporating natural light into office design, The Kid tweeted a treatise on the difficulty of making things both beautiful and functional which gave Derek chills. Part of him felt like he was constantly being stalked by The Kid, he often looked over his shoulder when perfectly alone, but if he were to be honest Twitter Derek seemed to be having a lot more fun with his life.
Derek groaned and threw his cell phone at the wall the week The Kid decided to start calling his followers Haleions. What did that even mean?! He watched the conversations continue between @DerekHale and the Haleions until it started trending. Then he'd had enough. He dialed Laura furiously from the office phone.
"Laura I swear to god," Derek barked into the phone when she answered.
"No Derek, you'll scare him off and he’s doing a fantastic j--,"
"I am not scary Laura," he growled, cutting her off.
"Is your assistant still at her desk?" Laura asked flatly. Derek rolled his eyes but got up to check. The desk was empty, and it looked like a few things had been snatched off it in haste.
"Where the hell did she get off to?" He huffed.
"To HR about twenty minutes ago when she heard something fly at the wall behind her desk."
"That proves nothing," Derek said dismissively. "Just give me the name, I will find out one way or another."
"You really won’t," she said sinisterly. "Pretty sure you still haven't found the wolverine figurine I hid from you when you were seven, and mom told me you still look in my stuff when you visit."
"Laura this is absolutely ridiculous, I am a grown man and I can control my own image. If you do not tell me who is running the account you leave me no choice but to have it shut down," He said sternly.
"Cute, Derek," she said her voice even. "Now you listen to me. Since creating the twitter as part of our broad new media strategy your book pre-sales are up 15%, we've received 30 request for you to speak at Universities, a handful of multi-million dollar contracts requesting you specifically by name not by previous work, and Hale Associates recruitment and quarterly projections are up. So what you will do, you insufferable grump, is sit down and shut up and let me do my job which is to run this company. Go draw a pretty picture Derek or play with the white models and the next time you think about threatening me, do not let it slip your scruff addled mind that I am the CEO of this company and I know what I am fucking doing Baby Brother." There was a beat of silence after Laura finished her response.
"Scruff addled?" He asked weakly, tail firmly between his legs.
"Derek," she said warningly.
"I get it, I get it, fine."
"I know it's kind of weird Der, let's get through the book release in July and see what happens, eh?" She offered.
"Thank you, Laura," he said.
"It's okay --," she started but he cut her off.
"For everything, really," he said. "I know that Dad--"
"Indulged the socially inept man-child that you are?" She offered before adding, "may he rest in peace."
"I was going to say gave me more leeway with my creative process than was probably healthy for the company," he corrected. "I know you're doing a lot to bring it back to glory and, just thanks."
"Look, I love you and I loved dad and this was his dream and I'm working my ass off to make it work. I'm sorry for getting testy," she said. "But if you really want to thank me, stop scaring your assistants off and look over the portfolios on your desk. I'm tired of bullshitting these interviews, pick a protege," she finished before quickly ending the call.
He picked up the cellphone from across the room and a few folders from his desk before heading out of his office. He noticed the new assistant sitting at the desk in front of his door immediately. It was probably a testament to how often this happened that the staff was able to find him a new assistant within 35 minutes of the previous one vacating the position. He made a mental note to worry about that later.
"Can you get me a new one of these," he started. "And send flowers or something to uh-- the one that was out here before you," he finished before stalking off down the hall. He walked into the gallery where they kept the old white-model versions of buildings architects at James Hale Associates had designed over the years. Whenever Derek was feeling particularly loss or upset or--more often than not--he missed his dad, he would come down here and stare at the pieces.
When he opened the door he noticed filming equipment set up in one of the corners, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else there so he pulled a seat up to one of the models, starting to flip through the portfolios Laura had sent him. He knew she was cleaning house by pushing some of the older associates out and forcing the ones that still had potential like Derek, their Uncle Peter, and a few others to shape up; but he didn’t see why he needed to be a part of it. Derek was much more comfortable in silence, at a drafting table, than speaking or let alone teaching anyone. He had decided on a few that showed an ability to work in broad styles when he heard humming coming from the other side of the room and saw a man bobbing his head to headphones, wearing skinny jeans, a graphic tshirt and a blazer, in stark contrast to Derek’s slacks, button up, and tie. He tried to ignore the other man, the way his slender shoulders and long legs drew Derek's attention, and concentration of the files in front of him.
“Hey,” Derek said when the humming grew too loud to ignore. The other man jumped, startled.
“Oh my god, Derek,” he squeaked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you there. When did you get in here. Wow, scared the crap out of me,” he continued.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked curty, taken aback by the informality of the greeting. He was pretty sure he hadn't met the man before, but that didn’t really mean anything. There were plenty of meetings where Derek would forget the the names and faces of attendees immediately after leaving the room. However, something told him that if he’d met this guy, he would’ve remembered it.
“This?” The man said with a grin. He knelt down to eye level with the model. Derek was a little suspicious of the smile, but also captured by it. He wanted to see those shoulders squeeze up and the grin spread over and over again. “I’m shooting the white models from a few different angles to add digital walkthroughs to the archives. I was thinking of layering it over with footage from the actual buildings and uploading it to YouTube. There are a lot of really exciting possib--,” he started glancing up to see Derek’s confused look. “Sorry, I get carried away. Basically, I’m taking a series of shots of the white models.”
“Are you an intern here or something?” Derek asked. To which the other man laughed, more so barked, in response.
“I guess I should take it as a compliment?” He says walking towards Derek. “But, the baby face will get you into trouble,” he added with a wink. Derek stared for a bit as the man fiddled with buttons on the camera. “I’m Stiles,” he finally offered.
“Should I know you?” Derek asked curiously. Stiles looked at him for a moment, his eyes appraising, as if trying to suss if Derek was being serious or not.
“I guess not,” Stiles said slowly. “Sorry, sir. I’m Stiles Stilinski the new VP of New Media & Digital Marketing,” he added reaching his hand out to shake. Derek took it carefully.
“When did we decide to get a VP of Marketing?” Derek asked more to himself than to Stiles.
“New Media and Digital Marketing,” Stiles corrected. Derek simply arched his eyebrow in return. “I came onboard about four months ago, but--,” he started but Derek cut him off as the realization dawned on him.
“You know who runs my twitter,” Derek said with a sharp, accusatory, tone.
“You mean Twi’rek?” Stiles asks lightly.
“What?” Derek asked.
“Twitter you... Twi.. Derek... Twi’rek.”
“Okay,” Derek says dismissively, ignoring the name. “Does The Kid work under you?”
“Uh,” Stiles started, running a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in places. “Yeah. I mean, technically he works for New Media.”
“Who is it?” Derek asked taking a step closer to Stiles, resisting the urge to grab him.
“You really don’t know, huh?” Stile said looking at him again. “I should probably talk to Laura about this.” Derek groaned.
“Fine,” he said, one foot stomp short of petulant. “Keep your secrets, Stilinski.”
And just like that, Derek and Stiles, and Derek and Laura, which at this point was more like Derek and Laura/Stiles, fell into some sort of a truce and Derek made sure that he put the date of the next board meeting on his calendar. He found himself visiting the gallery more and more in the coming weeks and every time he went, Stiles was there. Stiles would ask him questions about the models, and Derek would offer up everything he could remember from the work his dad did when he was a kid. He didn’t know why he found it so easy to talk to Stiles, perhaps because the man never stopped talking himself. He was loud when it suited him, and quiet when need be. Honestly, Stiles was so sure of himself he gave the people around him the permission to feel the same. He didn't even realize how far Stiles had wormed himself into his life until he started getting texts from the man.
And through it all, he followed @derekhale. He couldn't shake the eerie feeling of closeness with The Kid, which served to anger him further about the whole ordeal. The Kid got him in a way that he would have never ever shared with tens of thousands of people and the people, his followers, responded to it. The number of Haleions continued to grow and he'd started getting stopped on the street, especially when on campuses, by people asking for photos, adding a #HaleSighting to the online conversation.
Somehow, that had become his life; random conversations with Stiles wherever they bumped into each other, or over text; random interactions with strangers and being nudged (read: shoved) out of his cocoon by Laura, forced to give talks and present work; and drawing. He was working on another theater, his favorite kind of project, when July rolled around.
He had almost gotten used to having his life tweeted by another person. He found himself looking to the twitter for reminders of things he liked or ways to take his mind off the building pressure to find a protege or finish this project. And when the one year anniversary of his father’s death, followed closely by the anniversary of his--well, the other worst day of his life which he was absolutely not thinking about and not drinking about, it had been seven years, he was over it--came up he found himself craving his twitter mystery as a distraction from the cumulous nimbus floating over his head. On D-day (dump, demolition, disaster, danger, whatever you wanted to call it had definitely started with a D) he found himself sitting in his study at home with a glass of wine, watching the twitter populate with question for what The Kid had titled #hollatahaleion.
Derek didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until he heard himself gasp. He groaned and finished the rest of the wine. He would never let Laura (or Stiles for that matter) know that his interest in learning the identity of his twitter doppelganger was no longer fueled by pure outrage as much as a gnawing curiosity that he tried not to think about too much. He was staring down an a drawing, music playing in the background, frustration and fear coming off him in waves.
He knew he was fixated on the Twitter for no good reason and also, as much as he tried to avoid it, quickly falling for Stiles. Stiles who besides being one of the most open and honest people he knew, the man literally said everything that came to his made, was also keeping this stupid secret from him. And he knew why, Laura was right, whatever they were doing was working and Derek would ruin it. He would give in to his all consuming need to keep everyone out. But knowing that didn't help him reconcile his want with his fear. He had all but given up on completing the drawing that night when he got a text from Stiles.
Derek dropped his put his phone on his desk as he crawled into bed, resolved that if Laura could single handedly turn the company around, he could at least try to get past the things that held him back. He decided to let the twitter thing go, to finally ask Stiles out, and to finish that goddamn theater...tomorrow.
He called Stiles’s office to let him know that he was heading down to the gallery around noon and had his assistant buy them lunch from one of his favorite nearby places the Taqueria remembering to get the tacos just the way Stiles liked them. When he got down to the gallery there was a screen set up and Stiles was fiddling with the wires of a projector.
“Wanna watch 30 years of architecture compressed into a ten minute short?” Stiles asked with a smile. They sat down and watched the video which incorporated photos and stills from their archive, interviews of his Dad and uncle from the early days, as well as the white model videos Stiles had been working on. The final few scenes included a timelapse of a Derek designing a building, creating the white model, and included footage of the construction. It was beautiful and the last screen read James Hale Associates: The Future is Here. Derek smiled at Stiles when it ended.
“That was fantastic,” he said nodding.
“You think?” Stiles asked. “The timelapse is a project we’ve been working on for a while, my team hates me for it, but I think it turned out great, right?” He added pulling out his phone and clicking a few buttons mindlessly.
“Yeah it looks amazing,” Derek said as his phone began to buzz. “Looks like Twi’rek is shadowing us. You ever going to tell me which of them it is?” Derek asked smiling. He felt calm and happy in a way he hadn’t felt for months, years if he were being honest with himself. Everything was so easy with Stiles.
Until it wasn’t.
“Yeah, actually,” Stiles said pulling his hand through his hair. “It’s me,” he blurted out.
“What?” Derek said laughing incredulously. “I might not follow or really understand any of the New Media stuff, but I’m pretty sure the VP is too busy to tweet as me, Stiles. It’s cool, I know Laura has you sworn to secrecy.”
“No, Derek,” Stiles said pulling out his phone and handing it to Derek. “It’s me, I’m the one tweeting as @Derekhale.”
“What?” Derek said, anger and betrayal beginning to bubble up.
“It well,” Stiles started. “It was my idea to begin with, giving the company an attractive, credentialed voice, someone easy to listen to and easy to respect. And then Laura suggested you, and that you would never do it and I really thought you knew, but then that day down here you had no idea. So I kept it a secret. I just--,” he rambled. If it weren’t for the rage building behind his eyes Derek may have remarked on how rare it was for Stiles to truly ramble. He usually said a lot, but it was always important, clear.
“You lied to me,” Derek said slowly.
“I’m so sorry, Derek. I know, but we’re going to stop. I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” he said. “It’s my fault. I d--,” he said but Derek cut him off.
“You pretended to be someone you weren’t and lied to me about it,” Derek said shaking his head. It all felt sickeningly familiar.
“Oh, Derek,” Stiles said reaching out. “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to, but then I had already done it and you were you, and I didn’t want--. I didn’t know how to take it back, but I swear, I will never lie to you again.”
“No,” Derek said softly, shaking his head as he moved towards the door. Stiles stood to follow, but he moved faster, walking out the door without looking back. He hid out in his office until just before the book signing. He worked on some sketches but everything turned out horribly, and he resisted the habit of checking twitter. When it was time, he grabbed a taxi as opposed to riding in the car with Laura as he had planned. He sat and watched as colleagues and college students, professors and enthusiasts, lined up to tell him how much they loved his work and his vision, as he signed countless books to names he would never remember. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of a story or an anecdote that he had shared with Stiles before being convinced to give it to the editor compiling the book. Those pieces, however small, that accompanied the pictures of his works, those pieces were what was going to make this generic architectural digest, a glorified coffee table book, into something more. They were the pieces Stiles had pulled out of him and forced him to show to the world. His stomach turned in knots every time he saw one.
When the signing was over, Derek quickly made his way off the stage. He didn’t look over to where he knew Stiles and Laura would be seated. He wanted to make an exit as quickly and cleanly as possible. Even as he thought it, he knew that was going to be impossible. There were too many people here that knew him, or knew some part of him. Too many people to stop him and ask questions, to slow him down with their pictures and smiles.
“Don’t blame Stiles,” Laura urged coming up behind him.
“Not now, Laura,” Derek said, swerving through people as he noticed Stiles making his way over to them.
“Really, Der, this was all my doing,” she pleaded.
“Not fucking now, Laura,” he pressed.
“Derek,” Stiles called after him as Derek tried to get lost in the crowd “Derek, please, I didn’t--,” he started but becoming frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think, I didn’t realize.”
“Didn’t know what, Stiles? That I hated the twitter, or that I followed it obsessively, or that I begged fucking Laura to just tell me who was doing it and to stop. Or did you not do your research enough to know that someone lying about themselves and me lying to myself is what turned me into the fucking socially-inept man child standing before you?”
“It’s not the same,” Stiles said.
“It feels the same,” Derek said, the lie feeling thick on his tongue as soon as he said it.
“No,” Stiles said firmly. “Don’t compare me to her. Be mad, but don’t. Kate lied to you to burn your father’s company to the ground. She never knew you or cared about you, she stole millions worth of designs and, just fucking don’t.”
“And all you did was create an entirely new version of me, a new image, something perfect for the company, maybe perfect for you,” he said venomously. “But that was a lie. What makes you think you know me? Huh? A few stupid stories and trivial text messages? You don’t know me either.”
“Derek,” Stiles said sympathetically stepping towards him.
“No, fuck you Stiles,” he said dashing out of the building as it began to rain.
“Derek look, I really care about you,” he started, but Derek had already climbed into the taxi and ordered the driver to speed away. He was fuming. He was mad at himself for not seeing it and Stiles and Laura for lying to him for so long. Of course, of course Stiles was the one doing the twitter, Stiles had in two months gotten to know Derek better than anyone else. It was Stiles that he’d texted his stupidly ambitious design ideas to, his fears about forgetting the weight of the books, how responsible he felt for everything that happened to the company even though Laura was technically the one in charged. It was Stiles that he’d sat over lunch with chatting about all of the travel he’d taken and all of the ideas he pulled from european design elements.
When he finally made it to his apartment there was part of him that was surprised to find Stiles standing in his Lobby, and there was part of him that was entirely unsurprised. Stiles was drenched from the rain outside, he wondered if he’d biked the whole way there. He could feel his anger slipping just at the site of him, all he’d wanted this morning was Stiles or to know The Kid and now he had both. It shouldn’t feel this bitter, should it? Derek made to walk past him to the elevator.
“Just shut up and listen,” Stile said, holding Derek’s arm so he couldn’t get away. “Your first design job was when you were 6 and you helped your dad design the Hale Estate in Connecticut. You were obsessed with windows-- you’re still obsessed with windows-- so your dad let you put up a greenhouse, nothing but windows and stainless steel support beams and you were hooked.” Derek looked at him curiously. “You missed the board meeting when they created my position because you went back to the greenhouse, even though your parents sold that house when you were in college. That’s what Laura means when she says you’re communing with nature you go back to your first design.” he continued and Derek took a deep breath, settling in to the position. “She hid your whatever toy thing you argue about in the greenhouse, I don’t know why you haven’t thought of it. I was with Laura for about five seconds before I realized that was the kind of crafty she was. I--,” he stammered. “You eat red meat, and drink beer or sometimes wine, and are the surliest Alpha male I have ever met, except when you’re working on a project. Then you’re so open and nervous and beautiful, that it seeps into everything. You don’t listen to Fun. you listen to that Rebecca Ferguson song when you’re stuck, like it’s the only truth that matters. Those are things I know, and would never share, could never make up” He said picking up steam. “And yeah, it started out as just a dumb job, a project we didn’t trust with another member of my team, but somewhere along the line I stopped pretending to be you and just, fell in love with you. I tried my hardest to let everyone else see what I could see. And if you’re going to hate me for that, then whatever. But that’s the fucking truth Derek, that’s the truth” he said breathing heavily by the end. He let go of Derek’s arm and searched his eyes for some sign, but didn’t see it. Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes, taking a step back. Stiles shook his head and turned to leave the lobby, but Derek stopped him.
“I --,” Derek started, but couldn’t find the words. So instead, he used actions, pulling Stiles to himself and crushing his lips on the other man’s. Stiles reacted immediately, returning the kiss and wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck.
“Upstairs,” Derek whispered against Stiles’s lips. They rushed towards the elevator, barely letting go of each other, stumbling in.
They tripped over each other as they entered the loft. Derek pulling Stiles to the bedroom, stealing kisses, skin pressing skin as often as possible. Derek slipped his hands under Stiles’s shirt, his fingertips sending electric currents through Stiles’s skin, as Stiles rushed to remove the top. He tugged at the belt on Derek’s pants pushing down the pants and his boxers, falling to his knees as he removed them. He smiled briefly moving to kiss and nibble at Derek’s hip, inching lower and lower as Derek tangled his hands in Stiles’s hair lightly. Stiles dragged his tongue over Derek’s full length, before closing his mouth over him completely.
“St -- Stop,” Derek said too soon, reaching to pull Stiles up, unbuckling his pants and watching him shimmy out of them. Derek stared at his pale skin glowing in the moonlight that cascaded in through the open curtains. “Let’s, the bed,” he said breathlessly as they held on to each other, Stiles’s arms wrapping around him as they slowly made it to the bed. They were on top of each other in moments, rolling on the sheets, Stiles laughing and smiling and god Derek could get drunk on that sound.
“I, uh, have lube in the dresser,” he said sheepishly watching at Stiles’s eyes shined and a sly smile spread across his face.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Stiles murmured into his skin. “I thought about this, that first day, of course I knew you were there, but god you were so intense and, god thought about tying you up with that tie you had on, how raw I would be after getting your stubble burn over me--,” he said, the words getting further apart and less coherent as Derek pressed kisses all over his body. “And god,” he gasped. “Listened to your entire iTunes library, thought about fucking you to half of those songs,” he added but stopped abruptly when Derek mouthed his way to Stiles’s cock, licking a stripe over the full length of it.
“God, Derek, fuuuuuuck,” he moaned feeling close to the edge. “Stop, I want you in me,” he said pulling Derek up to look him in the eyes. Derek rolled over onto his back, taking a few breaths before reaching over to the dresser handing Stiles the container of lube and ripping open the condom. He tried to touch himself as little as possible as he rolled it down over his painfully hard penis. Stiles had already started working a finger into himself when Derek rolled back over.
“Hey,” Derek said smiling. “My job,” he added grabbing the bottle and slicking his own fingers. He moved his mouth over Stiles’s as he circled the rim with his finger and began moving in. He could feel every moan against his lips as he added another finger, moving and stretching the taut hole. Stiles reached his arms around pulling Derek closer than he would’ve thought possible as he entered a third finger moving around and further up, hitting the bundle of nerves that sent Stiles to near spasms.
“Fuuck, Derek, just -- please, Oh god, come, I’m ready, come on,” he muttered incoherently. To which Derek smiled, pouring out more of the lube and lining himself up. Stiles held on to Derek’s shoulders as he entered him at an agonizing pace, staying frozen for a few moments while got used to the tightness around his cock.
“This is, wow, okay,” Derek started as he moved to thrust into Stiles. “If I hurt you at all, you have to tell me,” he finished. Stiles nodded, mostly because Derek was looking at him, not because he’d really comprehended anything he was saying. All he could think of was the sensation of Derek inside of him. Derek started moving, slowly at first, but the pace growing faster with sharper thrusts as he found Stiles’s prostate again. Stiles gripped him tighter, his breath growing wilder and more unsteady as Derek reached in between to them pump Stiles’s dick in time with his thrust. They were both so close to the edge, it was a short few pumps before Stiles spilled over between them, his head dropping backwards, the bliss cascading over him. Derek followed soon after, bent over Stiles, breath haggard, skin raw. He stayed there for a moment, Stiles wrapping his arms around him as their breathing came back to normal and he slowly pulled out, tying the the condom and flinging it near the trashcan on the other side of the room.
“Holy shit,” Stiles said, looking over at Derek bleary eyed. Derek chuckled and wiped himself and Stiles with the now ruined sheets before kicking them off the bed and moving under the second layer of sheets. Stiles crawled under the sheets as well.
"Just one thing," Derek said smiling and pressing lazy kisses into Stiles’s hairline.
"Hmmm," Stiles murmured his hand carding through Derek's hair.
“You listened to my entire iTunes library?” Derek asked with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Stiles said shoving him.
“Okay, that wasn’t actually it.” Derek said, going quiet for a moment. "How did you know about the theaters?" Derek asked.
"Oh," Stiles said, a mix of guilt and concern etched across his face. "I'd heard the Kate story. I'm friends with her niece, Allison. And you spent almost a year and a half after that just building theaters, there seemed to be a connection,"
"Yeah," Derek said rolling over onto his back. "But how did you know?" He repeated emphasizing the question. "I don't think I ever told anyone that."
"I don't know what you mean," Stiles said turning to Derek, brow furrowed.
"That I was trying to find out what it was to really love something, in a way that wasn't as false and fabricated, and not just a distraction."
"Oh," Stiles said smiling softly. "I didn't know," he continued. "I just hoped, and I hoped you'd found it."
"I think I might've," Derek said wrapping his arm around Stiles and pulling him close. "I think I might've."