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Stiles has always felt pretty lucky about his soul mark. It isn’t anything hugely embarrassing, though a little on the side of standoffish. (He’d lamented at one point about how he obviously wasn’t going to make a good first impression on his soulmate, and his dad had just snorted, clapped him on the shoulder, and said “first impressions aren’t really your forte, kid. I wouldn’t worry about it. You grow on people.”) But most of all, most importantly of all, it’s specific. Not as specific as Scott, who’d lucked into a formal introduction on his soul mark (“hi, I’m Allison”) but it’s still pretty darn good.
After all, how many conversations tend to start with “This is private property”?
(Stiles likes to point out his mark as an excuse for his less than totally law abiding nature growing up. After all, “if I never do anything I’m not supposed to I’ll never meet my soulmate. I’ll be alone forever. You wouldn’t want that, would you dad?”)
He’s seventeen years old when he hears it, sliding into his usual desk in history class and noticing a piece of folded up looseleaf abandoned on the corner from the previous period.
He takes it idly, starts unfolding it when a slim hand darts out of nowhere, snatching it away.
“This is private property.”
Cora freaking Hale.
They’d gone to school together for years but had never been forced to interact, ending up in different classrooms, gravitating toward different social circles. She’s slight but obviously strong, with long, dark hair tied back in a basic ponytail and eyes that could cut you at a thousand paces, and Stiles feels his mouth hanging open, gaping at her.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, and immediately flinches. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
Cora just rolls her eyes, sliding the note into her pocket and snorting, like she hadn’t expected anything different. And of course she hadn’t, she’d grown up with that written on her arm. Already a first class soulmate, Stilinski. He can’t believe he’d sentenced Cora to a lifetime of “holy shit” coiling across her skin.
She’s tossing her hair back, watching him with dark eyed amusement.
“No problem,” she says, a grin teasing across her lips. “Just keep your hands to yourself from now on.”
“I didn’t touch you,” he says, voice breaking as it goes high. He can’t believe his making this bad of an impression. She flashes her teeth in a grin that’s easy and dangerous and, yeah, hot, ok? He’d definitely won the hot soulmate lottery and he’s still kind of wrapping his head around that one.
And she’s being so freaking cool about it, too. So casual. He’s just trying to keep his heart from rattling out of his chest.
“You touched my shit,” and he’s pretty sure she’s teasing. He’s pretty sure. She’s his soulmate so he’s definitely pretty sure on that one. She pokes his chest pointedly, before backing up a step and turning away. “Don’t touch my shit.”
And then she’s backtracking up the aisle, toward the door, and he lets out a frantic sound, tripping out of his chair so fast he bangs his knee on the underside of it.
“Hey, ow, wait. I mean. Should we… could we hang out later, maybe?”
She turns back, one perfect brow arching.
“Why?”
It’s such a nonsensical question that Stiles just stares for another second. He feels the eyes of the other students on him and shifts under the heat of their smirking or sympathetic gazes.
“I’d just… We should get to know each other better.”
He fights a wince as soon as he says it. He’s obviously already screwed this up. He’s going to be one of those soulmates. The ones with the unfinished bonds, the ones whose partners end up with someone else anyway. It happens sometimes, soulmates don’t make you a sure thing. He should’ve known he would be so immediately unappealing, should’ve known his soulmate would take one look at him (if she hadn’t decided against him before they’d even met because holy shit, really?) and decide to screw destiny.
“Stilinski, right?”
He’s jolted out of his rising panic and nods, a quick, desperate bob of his chin.
“Alright. I’ve got field hockey until 5 tonight. Pick me up after, you can drive me home.”
And then she’s gone, not so much as waiting for an agreement before sweeping off to her next class. He slumps back down into his seat, a dazed grin slipping over his lips until Scott drops down next to him.
“Dude, did you really just ask out Cora Hale?”
He turns his dizzy-pleased smile back on his friend.
“I asked out my soulmate.”
.-
If Cora feels the tension in the car throughout the drive she doesn’t let on. Stiles’ cleared throat and “where to?” just yield directions straight to her house, and her gaze slides over his too-tight grip on the wheel, the way he fumbles and accidentally turns on the heat while going for the radio. And while he spends the whole ride just drowning in the pressure of it all, wincing at every failed conversation starter and grating edge where their interests don’t fit, she takes it all in stride easily in a way that leaves him kind of more resentful than it probably should.
He feels almost relieved when the drive’s over, glad they hadn’t decided to stop and grab food or anything after all. And that’s kind of weird, he thinks, weird that he wants to be away from this person who’s his soul’s perfect match. Then again, this is kind of a big deal, and it was thrown at him out of nowhere today three minutes before a history quiz. He just needs some time to adjust to the idea, to settle into it.
Cora stalls after she slides out of the seat, bag slung back over her shoulder, hockey stick rolling agitatedly in her hand.
It’s the first time he’s seen Cora look nervous, and it makes him feel a little better.
“So, I’m not sure I made something clear before.”
His heart thumps, hands going sweaty on the wheel. Maybe they’re finally going to touch on it, on the whole reason for him being here. But Cora just shrugs, eyes sliding before switching back to fix on him firmly.
“I’m seeing someone,” she says, and… shit. Right, he should’ve known. “It’s kind of on the down low but,” she shrugs, smiling faintly. “But I mean, you seem pretty cool, when you’re not being a total spaz. So if you want to hang out, you know, platonically…”
Platonically.
Platonic bonds do happen, but that’s mostly with people who don’t do romance to begin with. And Stiles most definitely does romance. Or would. If someone ever wanted to do it with him.
Sometimes people who are soulmates try to do the just friends thing — because they’re in pre-existing relationships they don’t want to let go of, or just aren’t looking for a relationship, but Stiles has seen enough rom coms to know denying your soulmate never really works out well.
…Or some people refuse to admit their connection to their soulmate for other reasons. Like if they take one look at their soulmate and decide they’re too pathetic to even give a chance, whatever fate is telling them.
Stiles swallows down his initial response: the disappointed, frustrated, indignant reaction that tries to boil up. She’s said her piece. Whining about it would just be too damn pathetic.
“Right, yeah. Platonic.” The word sticks in his throat. He forces a smile, hopes it comes out halfway casual. “That’s totally cool. That’s what I was thinking anyway.”
She arches a brow, clearly doubting his words but letting them go.
“Cool,” she says instead, falling out of the space in the open door. “See you around then, friend.”
And she swings the door shut and jogs to her house without a second glance, leaving Stiles staring after.
.-
“But see, ok, here’s the thing.” He’s on his back, scowling up at his ceiling, phone held to his ear in one hand, the other tracing over the skin on his wrist that is usually covered by a simple black band. “She said she wants to be platonic because she’s seeing someone already, right? But that doesn’t mean that she won’t get interested in me later.”
Scott sighs softly over the line, and Stiles’ eyes are rolling before he even answers back.
“Stiles, man… I think you have to respect her current relationship.”
“I didn’t say I’m not going to respect it. I’m going to respect the hell out of it, it’s not like I’m going to try to break them up. But she’s my soulmate, man. You’re supposed to be into all that romantic crap. True love prevails, right?”
“Well, yeah but…”
“No buts, Scott. I’m gonna be her friend, alright? I’m gonna friendship the hell out of her and it’ll be awesome and then one day she’ll realize we’re meant to be.”
“Dude, this isn’t…” Scott trails off, before rallying, patient and firm. “This isn’t like that Lydia thing again, is it?”
Stiles winces, because Scott is never going to let that one go.
“Dude, no, I’m not twelve anymore.” Twelve years old, when he’d been convinced that Lydia Martin was the love of his life, no matter what the marks on his arm said.
(“You’re in my way” isn’t exactly a far cry from “this is private property,” but not close enough. …Stiles really doesn’t make the best first impressions.)
“And this is totally different than that, man. Cora’s my soulmate. Fate is telling me not to give up on her.”
.-
So he friendships the hell out of Cora Hale.
Knowing she’s his soulmate gives him a kind of confidence he never would have had otherwise: shouting her name when he spots her in the hallway, making her look up and roll her eyes, not quite hiding her returning smile. He stops at the popular table just to say hey at lunch, and ends up getting himself and Scott both invites to sit there. Which… huh. Who knew that was something that could happen if you just asked?
Lydia Martin gives Cora an arch look that she returns with a shrug, and Lydia turns with pursed lips toward Jackson and doesn’t address their side of the table for the rest of the meal. A few months ago (hell, who is Stiles kidding, yesterday) he would’ve been pretty crushed by that kind of welcome. But today Lydia Martin feels like old news.
.-
So here’s the thing: Lydia and Jackson aren’t soulmates. Everyone in school knows it, because locker rooms talk and Jackson has been careless enough times while showering for his mark – “I can’t believe you’re mine” – to be common knowledge. And there’s no question that that’s something that wouldn’t ever come out of Lydia Martin’s mouth.
(Stiles suspects Jackson’s Giant Ego to have caused his casual mark reveal on purpose, honestly, because who would be able to resist flaunting that kind of first impression? …Not that Stiles is jealous or anything. He’s an acquired taste, sure, but he knows how to work with that.)
But knowing they’re not soulmates doesn’t keep them from going back to each other every few months, or every time there’s a formal event they need to King and Queen the school for. Most of the popular crowd dates outside their soulmates. Most people do, at some point or another. No point in being lonely until The One comes along, right?
So it’s not really a surprise that Cora is seeing someone. It’s not a surprise that she wouldn’t dump the guy right away either.
Stiles is an acquired taste. And even if they’re meant to be perfect together, there’s no reason not to get to know each other for a while without dating. It kind of makes him more comfortable too, in a way. To put off the “destiny” stuff for a bit and just let the idea settle.
It still sort of rattles around strangely in his head sometimes: Cora Hale is my soulmate. Cora Hale, whose life and interests have never overlapped once with Stiles in eleven years of attending school together. Cora Hale, who likes Mexican food over pizza. Cora Hale who groans the first time they decide to put on a movie and Stiles suggests Star Wars.
She’s undeniably cool and smart and (once the initial soulmate panic dies down) a lot of fun to hang out with.
He’d always just kind of thought being with your soulmate would be something… more.
.-
They’re at the Hale house, working through their final essays before winter break (they’re in none of the same classes but Stiles has found that having a study buddy who doesn’t drop everything to play COD with you at the first suggestion is seriously helpful to his focus) when Stiles decides to run downstairs for a drink. There’s a stranger standing in the front hall, dropping a duffle from his leather-clad shoulder and brushing snow out of his hair. He’s older than Cora, has to be twenty one or twenty two, and Stiles has just enough time to recognize him from photos around the house, from his own vague memories of seeing a skinnier, shorter version of this man around town and think that’s Derek Hale before he trips on the third step and goes crashing toward the floor.
Toward Derek, actually. Who catches Stiles, gripping his forearm and yanking him back about half a second before he faceplants hard, and tugging him slowly to his feet. Stiles shivers at the guy’s winter-cold grip as the hand lingers, follows the man’s furrow-browed gaze to his arm. His right arm. His armband had ridden up with his sleeve when Derek caught him, exposing the soul mark curling across pale skin.
“This is private property?” he reads out faintly, incredulous. “That’s kind of pretentious, isn’t it?”
Stiles snatches his arm back, feeling his neck go hot.
People don’t comment on other people’s soul marks. That’s just manners. If you insult them you’re insulting the marked one’s intended which is just… hey, rude. Also, insulting a birthmark the person’s pretty much stuck with forever? Also rude.
He really hopes Derek’s never given Cora crap about the “holy shit” birthmark. Maybe she grew up embarrassed of it, hating it, because her stupidly muscled, bunny-toothed big brother had given her crap about it.
He loses the battle against his rising flush, tugging his band back down and lifting his hand to scrub at the hot skin of his neck.
“You should see what they ended up with.”
When his eyes slide back up, Derek’s smirk has slid away. He’s eyeing Stiles with a searching expression that leaves Stiles restless in his own skin. He looks away again fast.
“Oh should I?” There’s a tease in Derek’s words, but Stiles can’t work out the reason.
Except... oh. Does Derek know? Is this all his way of throwing out a jibe at his little sister? Because even if Cora and he haven’t really talked about it, even if Cora is still dating someone else, she must’ve at least told her family about Stiles. You don't meet your soulmate and then just not mention it.
That’s it, that’s exactly what’s going on. Derek knows who Stiles is and this is his way – awkward and weirdly intense as it is – of breaking the ice, teasing him.
“I mean, I guess you’d already know,” he shoots back, and doesn’t understand why his skin won’t stop flushing.
What is it about the Hales that leaves him feeling like a hopeless idiot?
Derek takes a few beats too long before answering, a weight behind his words.
“Guess I do.”
Stiles' eyes take their sweet time dragging back up, catching on Derek’s toned abs (visible right through his form-fitting shirt, what the fuck), his perfectly grown in stubble without a hint of an uneven patch. It’s unreal. If Cora had grown up with this as an example of what guys are supposed to look like, no wonder she’s taking a while coming to terms with being tied to someone like Stiles. His tongue flicks out, lips dry as he finally lands his gaze back on Derek’s.
“Well, I should go back to Cora then. Studying, all that.”
Derek’s lips curl, faint and amused.
”You do that. I guess I’ll see you around then…”
“Stiles,” he says, even though Derek must know that, must know who Stiles is if he knows Stiles is his little sister’s soulmate. But he just nods seriously, returning:
“Derek.”
Stiles laughs.
“Yeah, I know dude. I’m in your house.”
“Right.” He takes a step back, his eyes (what the hell color even are those eyes?) flicking across Stiles one more time, assessing. “Well, hopefully I’ll be seeing you around my house again soon, Stiles.”
Stiles nods and manages to turn around before the giddy grin breaks over his lips. Yes, he has so totally got big brother approval.
When he gets back to Cora’s room he realizes he’d totally forgotten to grab some drinks, and he doesn’t even mind. He can’t get that stupid grin off his face either.
.-
Derek’s around the next few times Stiles drops by the Hale house – home from his senior year of college for Christmas break. He doesn’t seem to have much to do with his time, hangs around the living room with them while Stiles and Cora hang out, which Stiles weirdly doesn’t mind because Derek’s better at video games than Cora and brings the vote up to 2-1 in favor the next time Stiles suggests Star Wars. He’s got terrible opinions on the expanded universe and argues the merits of the prequels, which Stiles just has to crush him on (though to be fair he’s pretty clearly just a huge dorky fan of Ewan McGregor’s Obi Wan, and Stiles has a hard time holding that against him) but their arguments are… there’s no other way to describe it, fun. Derek gets so indignant when Stiles twists his words, trapping him, gets this heat in his eyes that has Stiles actually looking for more things to argue about.
The third time they all hang out together, Cora gives Derek a pointed look and wonders “Is a chaperone really necessary?” But Derek just gives her a terse look and doesn’t leave, and Stiles is too busy being pleased about being able to pick at Derek’s views on the historical accuracy of Spartacus: Blood and Sand (the guy’s a muscly, leather-clad, history major dork, it turns out, and Stiles gets way too much joy out of that knowledge) to register until after the fact that Cora had been looking for time alone with him.
He bangs his head back into his pillow and refuses to let himself be upset about screwing up again.
Anyway, he’s got the rest of the year to work things out with Cora. He’s only got Derek in town with him for a few more days.
.-
School starts up again, and Derek goes back to college, and Stiles spends too long feeling like he’s resettling in his skin.
It’s spring semester of his senior year. Of course he’d be feeling restless, edgy.
He shrugs off the feeling, focuses on the months until graduation.
.-
“Soulmates is just such a forever concept, you know?”
It’s the first time she’s said the word in eight months of friendship, and Stiles turns to find Cora frowning down at her burger. They’d stopped on the way home today, like they do sometimes, to grab some food and chat. It’s a comfortable pattern they’d fallen into easily in the fall, and picked back up once spring lacrosse had started lining up with Cora’s soccer practice.
They have a routine. A weirdly comfortable routine… and now Cora’s mentioned soulmates and everything feels weird again, like Stiles’ soul is just suddenly remembering. As though he’s ever managed, over all this time, to forget.
He swallows hard, and his “yeah” comes out a little too rough.
She glances up, a commiserative look, before going to pick at the seeds on her bun idly.
“Do you think high school’s too young to start dating your soulmate?”
He bites down on his automatic reaction, takes a few beats to consider it seriously. If this is why Cora’s been quiet about it all this time, he has to respect that. But at the same time…
“I don’t know… I guess it depends on the person. To me it seems like… once you’ve found your perfect person, why would you want to hold off on being with them, you know?”
She bites her lip, shredding at the bun.
“Some people don’t think that way. Some people think it’s better to play the field, or keep it secret. Think image is more important.”
It comes out oddly bitter, and something about that tone keeps Stiles from flinching at the words that are obviously directed against him.
Has someone been telling Cora to ignore the soul bond? He pictures some of the people at her lunch table and feels strangely small because yes, that is definitely something some of those people would do.
“Do… do you think that?”
She lets out a long sigh that’s no kind of an answer at all, and for almost a minute they just sit there in awkward silence.
When she looks up again her entire expression has changed, lightened.
“You’re lucky, you know,” she says finally, and he lets out a sharp, surprised laugh.
“Yeah, I think so.”
That finally brings a smile to her lips, soft and fond, before she rolls her eyes and tosses her rolled up straw wrapper at his face.
“So Stilinski, you got a date for prom yet?”
.-
When Stiles knocks on the door to the Hale's house it's Derek who answers, and it takes almost five full seconds to force a surprised breath into Stiles’ lungs.
“You’re home,” he says, and it comes out on the wrong edge of breathless but hey, surprise, and he hasn’t seen the guy in four months so he feels totally justified.
And... fuck, how is it that he’s standing here dressed in a tuxedo and Derek is still the hot one?
It’s unfair, is all.
Derek seems startled by the suit, eyes sliding down Stiles and back up slow in a way that leaves him feeling itchy, exposed. Leaves him feeling like he should’ve probably spent an extra minute or five making sure his hair wasn’t stupid before heading over here.
“Right, Cora told me you were taking her to prom.” And maybe Derek has a cold or something because his voice sounds thick and the slightest bit rough, and he takes too long stepping back from the doorway and waving Stiles in. “She’s still getting ready.”
Stiles nods and follows him in.
His beard has gotten a touch longer over the past few months, less of a stubble now. It makes Stiles' eyes linger, make his fingers itch, staring at it. He wonders if it’s rough or soft, wonders if it would be too weird to ask to touch.
They’re kind of friends, right? Friends do stuff like that.
“I missed you,” Derek says, head ducking awkwardly, and Stiles grins because yes, they are definitely friends.
That’s kind of really awesome.
“Yeah?”
Derek laughs.
“I felt like an idiot… should’ve gotten your number before I left, but then I felt too stupid to ask Cora for it and…”
He trails off, head still ducked, and Stiles has never seen the guy look this uncomfortable, and it’s still all kinds of awesome because Derek is Derek and Stiles lives to put him on edge. But it also leaves Stiles wanting to wrap the guy up in hugs and warm blankets until he feels better about everything, so he shuffles in a step, ducks a little to try and catch Derek’s eyes.
Admits: “I thought about asking Cora too. For yours, you know, not mine. But then I thought that would be dumb, I mean, you’re Cool College Senior -- or now graduate, I guess, congrats on that -- Derek Hale. Why would you want a high school kid bugging you?”
“You don’t bug me.” That has Derek looking up, seeming almost offended. Offended on Stiles’ behalf or his own, Stiles isn’t sure. “Did you… you thought I wouldn’t want to talk to you?”
Stiles chuckles; it feels thin and unnatural in his own ears.
“Yeah, I mean, sure man, I know I’m awesome but for most people I’m sort of an acquired taste. I mean, ask your sister. It’s been like a year and she’s still coming around to me and—”
He breaks off as Derek steps forward, hand lifting to fist lightly into the front of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles’ heart thumps. He stumbles back a step, and Derek follows him forward as he hits the wall beside the door.
Derek’s too much in his space and it’s hard to draw in air, hard to think past the warmth of the hand on his chest, the spicy scent of aftershave. It’s all pressure and heat and overwhelming and Stiles is confused as hell because leaning in this close can only lead to one of two things and he doesn’t know why Derek would be threatening him, doesn’t get it because he has big brother approval, because they’re friends, because even if Cora’s always been hesitant, Stiles has always done right by Derek and there’s no reason for that suddenly to flip like this.
And the other option, the other possible reason for leaning this close into someone’s space would just be—
Derek’s mouth is on his, hungry and insistent, and Stiles is clutching at his shirt, whining against the warmth, welcoming it before he can really wrap his head around it. Kissing. Derek is kissing him and fuck, it’s really… it’s the most…
Derek’s perfect pecs press warm against his chest as Derek clutches his jaw, shuffling in closer, and it’s a slow movement but still somehow shocks him in a way that sets him shuddering, groaning into it.
It’s just… good. It’s warm and hot and he loses a second in the press of muscle against his hand, the faint graze of stubble (it’s rough and soft, it turns out, rough and soft at angles and leaves him aching to feel it in his palms, feel it all over) as Derek’s mouth shifts against his.
…And then pecs and stubble and Derek hit him all at once and he’s pushing hard, shoving Derek off him, shoving himself along the wall until there’s space to breathe between him and his soulmate’s brother.
“What the fuck, Derek?”
He’s still trembling, tries to convince himself it’s all anger and he knows it isn’t, and that pisses him off even more because... sure, maybe he’s inclined enough that way for the echo of a ridiculously attractive guy against his skin to be doing things to him, sending shivery, achy tendrils that make him want to drag Derek back against him, and that’s all the more reason why Derek should’ve known better than to do that. He’s hot as fuck, kisses like he was born for it.
Obviously that would turn Stiles on. Stiles can’t imagine a person alive who wouldn’t be turned on by surprise Derek kisses, ok?
What the hell was he trying to prove with this?
Derek looks… confused. Not victorious, like a brother who’d just proven his sister’s soulmate was unworthy of her, not vindictive or cruel or anywhere on the mustache-twirling villain spectrum.
No, he’s definitely confused. Confused, distractingly sexy, and a little, aching bit hurt.
“Stiles…” he starts, and the sound pulls at something deep in Stiles’ chest. Brings back that urge to comfort him and protect him from everything that might hurt him and that’s not right, ok? That’s just his stupid, bisexually inclined hormones rearing their head in a way they shouldn’t be. Can’t be.
He’s supposed to be with Cora.
Stiles shivers and pushes himself back off the wall, feeling coltish, unsure on his own feet.
“Dude, I want Cora.” He’s proud of how sure he sounds, even breathless. Derek flinches, visibly recoiling, and Stiles doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get how this all went so ridiculously wrong so fast. “It was always about Cora, don’t you get that?”
“But we… I thought…” He’s never heard Derek sound so lost, didn't know that he could. It’s breaking something inside him, and he needs to get out of here.
“You thought wrong, ok?” He’s pushing toward the doorway. He can’t deal with this. He has a prom to go to. Prom with his soulmate. “Tell Cora I’m waiting in the car.”
He gets to the doorway before Derek spits out, faint and bitter, “She’s never going to want you back.”
It digs in deep, the same doubt he’s had a hundred times this past year forged into words. Of being such a failure, being so goddamn unlovable that his own soulmate would never want him.
He doesn’t look back, throwing the bird up with a shaking hand.
“Fuck you, Derek. She will. She does.”
.-
Cora is absolutely stunning in a red, one-shoulder dress, her hair done in a side bun. She looks like something out of a fashion magazine and it’s kind of ridiculous that she’s even on Stiles’ arm… and he doesn’t feel any of it.
He feels Derek’s mouth on him, slow and shivery drags. He feels the heat of that hurt look in his eyes (but what the hell had he been expecting? He couldn’t have thought that would go different, ok? It’s one thing to date around before you’ve found your soulmate, but to date around with your sister’s soulmate?)
He feels the echoing slap of Derek’s parting words: She’s never going to want you back, and finds himself saying, halfway through some wordless dubstep: “So did you ever decide, about soulmates?”
Cora shifts in to hear him over the music.
“What do you mean?”
He fights past the pain in his chest, flashes a grin and forces out: “Whether you should listen to my awesome advice and date them in high school, or wait.”
She snorts, tossing him a teasing look.
“It’s not like you’ve done anything about your soulmate situation.”
His brows shoot up, because… had he been reading this wrong all along? Had she seriously been waiting for him to make a move?
“Maybe I should go for it,” she’s saying, eyes drifting. “I mean, it’s end of senior year, right? What the hell?”
That’s an invitation if he’s ever heard one.
His mouth itches with the echo of Derek’s mouth. He leans forward, fast and impulsive. Barely brushes his lips against hers – soft and glossy – before he’s being pushed back.
“What the hell, Stiles?”
He stumbles back, frowning. Cora looks… Cora looks livid.
“Are you drunk or something right now? Because you’d better be seriously fucking wasted to think kissing me is a good idea.”
“I don’t… you were just saying… you said you wanted to go for it.”
“Go for my soulmate,” she growls. And that’s just…
He’s so unbelievably sick of this back and forth. Drained and exhausted and still shaky from his encounter with Derek, from the way he’d responded to Derek's kiss, wanting something he so definitely shouldn’t have wanted. And that’s probably what drives him to do it, makes him grab her arm and tug her off the dance floor, toward the balcony. She catches up to him several steps in until he – his hand wrapped around her wrist or not – ends up the one being dragged.
And even that makes it worse, makes his skin itch restless with the wrong of everything, with the way he always feels so damn wrong-footed around this girl. Makes him shove up his sleeve and rip off his band and snap:
“Yeah, your soulmate Cora. Me.”
He feels stupid in the aftermath because people don’t do this. There’s no big reveal when it comes to soulmates. You say your first words and your soulmate knows and what the hell is wrong with Cora that she’s making everything so damn complicated?
She’s staring at his arm now, lips moving faintly as she makes out the twists and winds of the mark.
And he waits for her to do something. To quail and cave under the irrefutable evidence in front of her, but all she does is look up from his arm to meet his eyes and murmur again, faint, “What the hell, Stilinski.”
And then she’s tugging off her own band, the corsage tearing away with the pull and fluttering to the ground. Holds up her own wrist to reveal:
You have pretty hair, but mine’s better.
...Which is something Stiles has never said to anyone, much less Cora Hale.
He blinks at it, back up at Cora’s face because… because he’s heard of people who are born without marks, people who are born with more than one, but he’s never heard of a case of soulmates where one person’s mark just doesn’t match up with the other’s.
“What the hell,” he agrees, faintly. “But you said this. You said this to me, that day in history when I was holding your note.”
Cora laughs, faintly hysterical.
“You mean my note from Lydia? Telling me she loved me but she still wasn’t ready to tell everyone about us?”
Stiles’ brain actually goes offline for a bit at that.
Because… wait.
(Because… hot.)
Because…
“Lydia?”
“Lydia,” Cora snaps, sharp and low as her gaze skates around the empty balcony. “My soulmate? I… I told you. I told you that first day that I was seeing someone.”
“Lydia dates Jackson. Lydia’s at this dance with Jackson.”
Cora scoffs, arms crossing. He sees her hand shift, fingers playing protectively over her mark.
“Everyone knows they’re not soulmates. They’re together for their image. Because Lydia’s parents would flip the hell out if she came out. I’ve known she was my soulmate since second grade but she’s waiting 'til we go to college to go public. Which sucks but, you know, I get it. Not everyone’s family is accepting like mine, you know.”
Her gaze goes hard again at the mention of family, and then she’s shaking her head, backing up a step, hand going to her lips like she’s trying to wipe any echo of Stiles from her mouth.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, Stiles, you idiot. I can’t believe you thought… you two are so disgustingly perfect together, and all this time you didn’t even get that…”
And Stiles realizes, with a sick sort of horror that’s been coiling through him since before the dance, since before he’d left Cora’s house tonight, that there is one other person who’d said his soul words to him. Who’d read them straight off his arm so he’d thought it couldn’t count. Hadn’t even considered it, had brushed aside all his instincts telling him how much he wanted, how right they felt together.
Holy shit.
Stiles definitely fails at soulmates.
.-
Stiles really should’ve gotten Derek’s phone number.
He doesn’t answer the door at Stiles’ insistent knocking, or when he hangs on the bell for so long the whole preserve has to be ringing with it.
Cora’s still back at the prom, had patted Stiles on the cheek before declaring her intent to track down some friends and not come home until “ridiculously late, Stilinski, and the parents are away for the weekend so you two won’t have to hold back on anyone’s account."
And... why hadn’t Stiles decided to kiss Cora before tonight? He’d had an entire year to make stupid, reckless, impulsive decisions and instead he'd had to wait until he’d already screwed things up with Derek.
Screwed them up so fucking bad because… because every moment of doubt Stiles had ever felt about Cora, every flicker of fear at the idea of being outright rejected one day by his soulmate…
Stiles had done that to Derek. Done worse, because without the haze of "destiny" clouding his vision it’s become kind of sickeningly obvious to Stiles that he’d never actually wanted Cora like that, not really. She’s hot and she’s cool but he had never felt for her anything close to what he’d felt for Lydia all those years ago.
Or what he felt for Derek after just a few seconds of knowing him.
And Derek had kissed him and Stiles had pushed him away. Had told him no and never and that he’d wanted someone else.
His Camaro’s still parked in the driveway, which means that Derek must be home. Home and hurting, and there’s just one wooden door and an ocean of misunderstandings between them, and there’s no way for Stiles to fix it.
In a fit of desperation, he texts Cora.
I need to break into your house please advise
Which garners no response, of course, because Cora’s still dancing the night away, probably with her soulmate, while Stiles crumples slowly onto the porch steps and tries to wrap his head around seeing the past year in an entirely different light.
It’s well past midnight when he appears out of the shadows of the trees, skin pale and eyes luminescent in the moon’s light. He stalls, going visibly tense when he catches sight of Stiles slumped in his rumpled suit, tie undone and shirt half-unbuttoned to ward off the early June heat.
Stiles watches him warily, words fleeing at the closed-off look in those eyes, the tight set of his jaw. He’s never seen Derek look like this, so cold and unapproachable. They stare for a moment, before Derek asks, low: “Cora alright?”
Stiles latches onto the words, nodding feverishly, pushing himself, unsteady, to his feet.
“Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine, I just—“
“Good.” The word cuts right through anything Stiles might have said, poised and sharp, like a period. Like “the end.” And he’s in motion again, moving smoothly past Stiles and pulling open the door.
(All this time it had been unlocked. Figures.)
Derek doesn’t add anything, any last thoughts, final bite or snark for Stiles to latch on to. The door swings shut, swallowing Derek behind it.
...Well screw that.
Stiles launches himself forward, grabbing the handle and shoving the door open. Derek spins, careful blankness giving way briefly to surprise as his gaze flicks over Stiles, standing there, breathing like he’d run a mile and not three steps across the porch to the doorway.
“That’s breaking and entering,” Derek observes.
Stiles breathes sharp, steps pointedly past the threshold.
“What, you mean this is private property?”
Derek flinches, anger battling the blankness as his lip curls bitterly. Stiles can imagine what comes next – Derek pushing him out, the door slamming shut in his face.
And he might deserve it, he probably actually deserves it after tonight, but there’s no way in hell he’s letting Derek punish him when he doesn’t even realize what he’s punishing Stiles for.
“I thought it was Cora,” he says, and before Derek can cut in, before the angry curl of his mouth can shape into any kind of accusation, he adds, “my soulmate. I thought it was her. The first thing she ever said to me, it’s what I have on my arm. And then you said it too but I didn’t think about it because I’d already heard her say it, thought I’d already found my… and that’s stupid, ok, because they’re just… they’re just words, and a thousand people could say those same words, I’ve seen grumpy old men shout those words at rambunctious teens in movies a dozen times and never thought one of them was my soulmate but… but that’s what it is. I thought I was supposed to want her, ok? I thought… I thought she was supposed to be it for me.”
Derek stares for a long time after Stiles finishes speaking. Stares as Stiles risks another slow step forward, pushes the door pointedly closed behind him. Then he blinks, head shaking slightly, looks down with a humorless laugh.
“So now you want me because you’ve realized we’re soulmates.” He makes it sound so awful. So... shallow. Stiles wants to grip Derek’s hand, press it to Stiles’ chest, get him to somehow feel how deep this goes.
“I wanted you since I met you. I just didn’t let myself think about it.”
Derek laughs again, bitter. Incredulous. Stiles follows the invisible tug in his chest forward a step, almost into Derek’s space, but doesn’t let himself reach out. Doesn’t let himself touch.
“Hey, I thought I was supposed to want her, ok? What kind of a dick would I be to make a move on her brother? I wouldn’t do that to her, or you. I wouldn’t want to mess with you guys that way.”
Derek squeezes his eyes shut, head shaking.
“I’d have had to kill you if you were her soulmate and tried that,” he concedes, and Stiles feels a grin touch his lips.
“See? I was being noble. Ignoring all this…” Finally (finally) he lets his fingers drift out, brush just barely along the bare skin of Derek’s arm. “Because it was the right thing to do. I kind of can’t believe my self restraint, actually.”
“Or maybe you were just in denial, too dense to realize what you really wanted.”
But Derek’s tone is softer. His eyes open again, slide to catch on Stiles’ briefly before dropping away.
Stiles feels a surge of relief so strong he ends up laughing.
“Sounds like something I’d do,” he concedes, and watches Derek’s arm lift toward him. Opening up for him.
“How’d I end up with a soulmate like that?” But the anger is gone from his tone, replaced by a fond exasperation that has Stiles crowding forward, into the open embrace of that arm, pressing tight against Derek’s chest and then just sinking in. Breathing.
And Derek’s laughing into his shoulder, curling one hand down to brush over the still-bared skin of Stiles’ wrist.
“I can’t believe your mark is my sister’s first words to you.”
“Hey,” Stiles says. “They’re your first words to me. You just ended up reading them off my arm like the huge, socially inept dork you are. And by the way, never ever do that with anyone else, ok? It can cause all kinds of confusion.”
Derek snorts, like he hadn’t totally derailed five months of Stiles’ love life by failing to understand basic personal boundaries.
“But it could have been anything. I’d have read anything. Why the hell did it have to be that?”
Stiles’ hand has found the edge of Derek’s jaw, his soft-rough stubble. He wants to mouth at it, rub himself raw with it.
“Well, maybe fate did it on purpose that way. Maybe the universe realized I’d never run into you if I wasn’t trying to spend time with her.”
“You think fate cares like that?”
“I think if fate makes two people as awesome as us, it’s not gonna miss an opportunity to make sure we end up together.” He pulls back slow, catches Derek’s hooded eyes. “We are, right? Ending up together?”
Derek lets out a shallow breath, stepping out of Stiles’ embrace, and Stiles has a few seconds for everything to go tight and panicky again before he sees Derek’s hand going to his band, tugging it down.
“I don’t have to see it,” he says, sharp. He doesn’t. With the idea that it has to be Cora gone, he can’t imagine it being anyone but Derek. He thinks wildly, romantically, that even in a world without soul marks he would still know he was Derek’s.
“I want you to see it,” Derek's saying softly, and holds out his bare arm. “It’s yours.”
The words curl in a short spiral across Derek’s skin.
You should see what they ended up with
“I tried for a long time to make sense of it,” he says as Stiles reaches out, tentative, to trace his fingers along his own words etched to someone else’s skin. “It sounded like the middle of a conversation, not the start. But you’ve always been one to dive right into things.”
“I’ll dive right into you,” is out of his mouth before he really grasps it, and then he’s snatching his hand back, blushing hot. “I mean… that’s not… not that we couldn’t, or that that would have to be the, um… the positions. Or if there will be any positions. I’m still only like forty percent sure right now that you don’t just want to throw me out of the house forever because—”
“Stiles.” Derek’s gotten in close again somehow, catching Stiles’ arm in one hand, pressing it back to his forearm, the mark. “I’m marked for you. I’m yours.”
“I… yeah, I’m. I’m yours too,” he stammers back, and thrills at it. Thrills more as an honest smile curls over Derek’s lips, as they both lean in and meet in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that leaves them both groaning, restless, pushing in harder.
“So…” Stiles says when they finally pull back. “Positions?”
.-
“This is private property!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. Stiles almost bangs his head on the counter, straightening. There’s a woman in her upper twenties standing in the doorway behind him, slight and strong looking with brown hair and a rounding belly, a teasing glint in her eyes. He’s seen her in pictures, knew she would be coming to town for Cora’s graduation.
“Laura Hale,” he says, and she purses her lips disapprovingly.
“Really, that’s it? What if we were soulmates? You would have just saddled me with a very egotistical mark on my skin.”
He squints, mock-thoughtful, and tries: “Laura Hale, I’m sorry but I’m in love with your brother?”
“Ooh, I like that. Nothing better than an element of drama to spice up a soul mark. But alas,” She touches a hand to her belly, the unborn child Stiles knows is about five months along, “I’m taken.”
“Damn, guess I’ll have to settle then.”
“What are you settling for?” Derek’s in the doorway now, slipping around Laura, pecking her on the cheek and resting a fond hand on her belly. Stiles reaches his hand out, wiggling his fingers expectantly until Derek holds out his own and lets Stiles grab his wrist and trace along the lines of the covered mark.
“You,” Stiles answers brightly. “Your big sister just rejected me, awful. Broke my heart. Will you comfort me?”
Derek rolls his eyes, long suffering.
“If I must.”
And then he’s shifting, boxing Stiles against the counter and leaning in slow in a way that leaves Stiles shivery with anticipation and want.
More than want.
Because they’ve been together for less than a month, but there are marks on their arms tying them together. Promising them, if they do this right, they could end up with forever.
“Alright,” Laura says, a smirk in her tone. “Guess I’ll meet the new soulmate later.”
“Shh,” Stiles waves her off, lost in the pleased hungry-want of Derek’s eyes. “Talk later, comfort now.”
“Now that would be a hell of a soul mark,” Laura murmurs. Heels click softly as she retreats back up the hall.
Then Derek’s mouth is on his, and for a while Stiles forgets what words are.