Chapter Text
New York was fucking expensive.
Stiles knew that when he applied to NYU’s Master’s Program for Museum Studies, but going to school in the city with one of the largest concentrations of museums in the world seemed worth it. When he was awarded a partial scholarship and a TA position that would cover his remaining tuition plus a stipend, he figured he would be fine.
He was not fine.
His stipend barely covered the rent on his tiny studio, and if he wanted to eat or have electricity, he had to find new ways to make money.
Thank god, his years as a juvenile delinquent skulking around the sheriff’s station proved useful. He had yet to find a lock he couldn’t pick, so he was a quick hire for the local locksmith. It was a small company in the area surrounding campus that catered mostly to students. Turns out, drunk college students lose their keys a lot, and while on-campus housing meant RAs with spare keys, off-campus housing meant a slurred phone call to a professional. The owner just wanted to be able to sleep, so Stiles found himself working as the on-call emergency locksmith.
While Benny, his boss, slumbered away peacefully, Stiles spent his nights grading papers between call-outs. Thankfully, he rarely got a call on weeknights. It seemed that most of the off-campus housing had at least one non-idiotic student who was available to let their idiotic roommates in when they stumbled home drunk and without their keys. (Unfortunately, while that meant more sleep during the week, it also meant less money. Who knew on-call pay was so shitty unless you actually got called in?)
So when his work phone rang at 2 am on Tuesday—no, Wednesday now—he nearly cried into the pillow he’d just snuggled into. It was only the promise of a bigger paycheck that got him to answer.
“Large Locks Near Me, let us put our key in your lock.” Benny’s business name and required greeting normally reduced their clients to drunken fits of laughter. The long, uncomfortable silence Stiles was treated with this time was new. “Uhm, hello?”
There was what sounded like a throat clearing, then, “This is a locksmith, right? Not…”
“Not…?”
There was another uncomfortable pause. “You’re not, like, a stripper masquerading as a locksmith?” Then, more quietly, as if the guy was talking to himself. “Are people into that?”
Stiles couldn’t help the huge laugh that bubbled out, finding himself more awake. Most people found them by Googling, which also showed their 500+ reviews about legitimate locksmithing. So while the name and greeting were tongue in cheek, no one had taken it seriously as long as Stiles knew. Benny was going to be thrilled when he told him.
“No, man. No strippers here. Just legal breaking and entering.”
There was a small huff of laughter and Stiles grinned. “Good. My sister recommended you, and I wouldn’t put it past her to hope I accidentally order myself an exotic dancer.”
“She sounds like a riot. Now, how can I help, while completely clothed?”
Fifteen minutes later found Stiles huffing up five flights of stairs, eyes still gritty from lack of sleep but surprisingly awake. He hated walk-ups. His tiny box of a studio was technically one, but there was a reason he’d opted for a second-floor unit, and that was his penchant for avoiding anything more physically taxing than necessary. Unfortunately, his job was necessary.
He reached the landing, leaning over with his hand on his knees.
“Are you okay?” a voice asked.
Stiles glanced up to see the single most gorgeous person he had ever seen. He tried to ignore the bulging muscles visible thanks to a paint-splattered tank top and thin basketball shorts, thankful that the unattractive red flush he always sported after exercising probably covered his blush.
“Yeah,” he gasped out. “Yeah, I’m good. Are you Derek?”
The guy nodded. “Yeah, and I take it you’re, uh, Large Lock?”
Stiles let out a breathless laugh. “Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m Stiles.” Stiles tried not to notice how big Derek’s hands were when they shook.
“Stiles, thanks for coming.” Derek gave a sheepish smile, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. He grabbed his wallet for Stiles to check his ID, then gestured towards one of the doors on the left. “This is me.”
There was an opened and half-eaten container of Chinese on the floor next to the door, and Stiles snorted. “Ah, the culprit: good ole 2 am dim sum.”
Derek’s ears turned red as they walked over, and Stiles tried very hard not to find it adorable. “Yeah, the delivery person refused to walk it up and I forgot my keys.”
Stiles nodded. “Happens more than you think, dude. Don’t worry about it. At least you’re not vomiting on your welcome mat while waiting for me.” He dropped to his knees in front of the door, already concentrating on the job at hand. Derek, who Stiles was trying to ignore standing next to him— seriously his crotch was right there, oh my god, keep it together, Stiles— made a strangled noise and thankfully stepped back. “I know, right? Gross.”
“Does that,” Derek cleared his throat before starting again. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, inserting the tools he needed into the lock and feeling around. “My calls are 95% drunk college kids and way too many of them can’t hold their liquor.” He felt the lock disengage and let out a triumphant sound, removing the picks and twisting the handle. The door swung open.
“Tada!” Stiles made jazz hands and grinned at Derek. He had to stop himself from swooning when Derek grinned back and revealed a cute pair of bunny teeth.
“That was fast,” Derek said.
“Thank you,” Stiles said, scrambling up and giving a little bow. Though he was ready to get back to his bed, he kind of wished he wasn’t so good at his job if it meant spending a little more time making that cute smile appear.
They settled the payment, Stiles taking a little longer than necessary inputting Derek’s information, then Stiles said the required farewell. “Thank you for letting Large Locks give you your happy ending.”
Derek paused from where he was half bent over from grabbing his food and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
Stiles bit his lip to keep from grinning. “We’re a hit with the drunk college crowd.”
Derek huffed a laugh. “I can see why my sister likes you guys so much.” He grabbed his food and straightened up, giving Stiles a small smile. “Thanks, Stiles.”
“No problem,” Stiles said, walking backwards towards the stairs. He only tripped on his feet a little bit. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too,” Derek said.
Stiles quickly turned around to avoid falling down five flights of stairs and decided that this call-out wasn’t so bad. No vomit, cute guy to look at. Definitely one of his better ones.