A/N: So you know how on a roller coaster, there's that climb to the top, the breathless moment where you're on top of the world, and then there's that terrifying, stomach-clenching drop? Yeah... I may have forgotten to mention it, but last chapter was that moment at the top. Buckle in, kiddos. (Remember: we'll get to the happy ending. Breathe deep, power through.)

Except they didn't talk about it. They spent weeks together, hanging out and flirting and studying and playing video games and falling into what most people would consider an actual relationship, but they both held back. Derek didn't seem to mind whether they talked about it or not, but Stiles couldn't talk about it. The more time they spent together the more he realized he was head-over-heels crazy about Derek, and the more terrified he became that when he finally did broach the Topic, he would find out Derek had someone else's initials on his body. He wasn't sure he could handle that.

So he just kept pushing it away. They'd talk about it tomorrow. Or next week. Or never.

"Hey," Derek greeted him, not even glancing up when Stiles let himself in. "The game's almost over."

Stiles dropped onto the couch, kicking off his shoes and putting his feet up on the table. Derek gave him a dirty look out of habit, but didn't say anything as he returned his attention to the TV. It wasn't the Mets-Stiles thought it looked like the Cardinals-so he only half-watched the game. The other half was spent watching Derek's face, which was rarely so animated as when he was watching baseball. His eyes shone, darting back and forth as they followed the play on-screen, his mouth tightening in anticipation, and then a brilliant grin accompanied by a shout of joy. He slammed his palms on his thighs, turning to Stiles in victory, and Stiles softened as he studied the face of the man he had come to care for beyond what he'd ever felt for anyone. He wasn't ready to call it love, it was too soon for that, but he expected to get there before the end of the month. The realization terrified him.

"We need to talk about the soulmates thing," he blurted out, and he flinched when Derek's beatific smile dropped off his face like a body into the Hudson. "I just, I can't do this anymore without knowing."

"Knowing?" Derek's voice was quiet, his eyes solemn and sad, and Stiles knew, he knew this wasn't going to end happily.

"If we're soulmates." He held his breath, feeling like his lungs were going to burst until Derek gave him a wistful smile.

He looked down at his hands, seeming to struggle with the words he was about to say, and Stiles wanted desperately to keep him from saying them. He'd asked for this, he'd thought it was what he needed, but more than anything he just wanted to go back to that time a minute ago when there was still hope. "We're not."

He'd known, but the words sliced through his gut with the precision and fire of a razor-sharp blade anyway. "We're not," he echoed, feeling as hollow as the words sounded. "Have you met your soulmate?" Stupid question, Stilinski. If he had, he wouldn't have spent the last few weeks with you.

Derek shook his head. "I've met a few people with the right initials," he admitted, "but they weren't the One."

"Same here." Stiles let out a slow, faltering breath. "I guess that's it, then."

Panic flared on Derek's face and Stiles couldn't breathe. "What, you're going to leave because I'm not your soulmate?"

Stiles's eyes widened as he realized Derek thought he'd meant he was going to cut the older man out of his life. "No!" he rushed to assure him. "I mean, I still want to be your friend. I want you in my life for as long as you'll have me. But the romance thing… We can't."

Derek stared at him stubbornly. "You really put that much stock in it?" he argued. "You don't think it's worth exploring a relationship with someone just because they don't have the right letters tattooed on their body?"

"What's the point?" he asked, voice low and pained. "We get together. We spend a few months, or worse, a few years together, completely happy. Then one of us finds our soulmate, and the other gets their heart shattered."

"Or, we spend a few months, or a few years together, and we're completely happy," Derek retorted. "Maybe neither one of us ever finds our soulmate. Maybe our soulmates are platonic. People have been arguing for years that the soul mark is too inconclusive to plan your whole life around. It's more of a guide than a great big flashing neon sign."

Stiles heaved in a troubled breath. "Derek, I like you a lot. But I'm not willing to run the risk of you destroying me on the off chance you won't walk away." Running a hand through his hair, he collapsed back against the couch. His mind raced and he finally glanced over at Derek, debating whether to voice his thoughts. "We could try the friends with benefits thing," he offered, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Derek was shaking his head before the words even left Stiles' mouth. "No," he said flatly. "I don't want part of you, Stiles. I want all or nothing."

They both stood when it became clear they were at an impasse. "I meant it when I said I'm not leaving because of this," Stiles insisted, even as he headed for the door, followed closely by Derek. "I feel closer to you after less than a month than I have with most people in years. I'm not giving that up." His mouth snapped shut and his eyes widened. "Unless, of course, you think we should. I won't push you to be friends if it's going to be too hard on you."

Derek shook his head, sighing. "No. I'd rather have you as my friend than not have you in my life at all." Stiles opened his mouth, puzzled, but Derek cut him off. "It's different than sleeping with you when I want to be with you. I'm not going to sell myself out just to be able to touch you."

Stiles nodded, swallowing past a large lump in his throat. "Then this is it. We re-set. Tomorrow when I come over, we're just friends, nothing else. We both know now it can never be romantic."

Derek stood stiffly, his expression uncertain, and something twisted in Stiles' chest. "We re-set," he repeated, throat aching. "Tomorrow. Tonight, we can still have this." He slid into Derek's space, crushing their chests together as he twined his arms around Derek's neck. His arms came up automatically and encircled Stiles' waist, pulling him in as tightly as he could, and Stiles was lifting up on his toes, fusing his mouth to Derek's with a desperation equally matched by the older man.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, full of longing and tenderness. It was passion, it was pain, it was heat and fire and need. They clung to each other, lips moving frantically over the other's, tongues licking and sliding and curling and stroking. They poured every ounce of desire and want and heartbreak into those few moments, kissing until they were breathless, until they were oxygen-deprived, and Stiles started to get light-headed and woozy and had to break away to keep from collapsing at Derek's feet like a bad actress in a black-and-white movie.

He dropped his forehead to Derek's chest, feeling those large, strong hands roaming comfortingly over his back. Tears sprang to his eyes and he had to swallow hard several times to keep from giving in to the need to cry right there. He had his pride. He'd wait until he got home and then he'd kick his roommate out and bawl his eyes out with the covers over his head. Right here, he'd keep it together. Somehow.

"So, friends?" he croaked, trying to paste a crooked smile on his face, and succeeding only in grimacing.

A hooded look cast itself over Derek's eyes. "Friends," he echoed, voice empty. His mouth twisted into a hollow approximation of a smile.

Stiles couldn't help it; he reached up and pressed another hasty, desperate kiss to Derek's closed lips and slipped out the door, closing it behind him with a sharp, hard tug. He had to collect himself for a moment as he stood in the hallway, shaking, and knew that whatever they had just said, they would never be just friends. But they had to try.

He wasn't sure how he made it back to his dorm without breaking down, but somehow he was spilling into the door of his room, noting distractedly that his roommate, Eli, wasn't around. It helped him to feel less pathetic when he face-planted on his bed, burying his face in the pillow and finally letting the flood of tears loose. He felt like a fucking idiot, having allowed himself to all but fall in love with Derek without ever having known what his soulmate initials were. He'd just been so damn certain. Everyone always said when they met their soulmate they just knew; seeing the initials was simply a confirmation of what their hearts had already told them. He'd honestly thought… but apparently he'd been wrong. Surprise, surprise.

Sometime later-could have been minutes, could have been a week, since Stiles was so out of it he didn't have the slightest clue how much time had passed-his phone rang. Against his better judgment, he clawed at his pocket for his phone, hoping that Derek had realized he'd somehow been misreading the initials inked on his own skin for twenty-two years. When he saw Lydia's name on the screen, the disappointment was crushing.

"Yeah," he answered listlessly, staring up at his ceiling with unseeing eyes.

"Wow, that's the cheeriest I think I've ever heard you," Lydia remarked, tone as dry as the wine she preferred. "What happened, did Derek find a new friend to play with?"

Stiles flinched, the words landing too close to the truth. "Not exactly," he mumbled. "We're still friends. Just friends. I'm not his soulmate, Lyds."

"Oh, sweetie." The pained sympathy in her voice grated on his nerves. "I'm sorry. I know how much you love him."

"I don't," he protested automatically. "I haven't known him long enough to love him."

"Bullshit," she scoffed. "You've loved him since the first time you met him. You might be able to fool him, you could probably even fool Scott, but don't even act like you'll be able to fool me."

Stiles groaned. "I hate the fucking soul mark," he groused. "Why can't it be clearer? Why can't we just have our damn soulmate's name tattooed on us instead of their initials? How does this help anyone?"

"Stiles, you know better," Lydia reminded him. "People would rebel against the idea of the soulmate if they felt like another person was being forced on them. The ambiguity makes people feel like they have a say, some control over their own lives."

"Fuck control," he muttered, sighing. "Jesus, Lyds, why does this have to suck so hard?"

"Alright, enough of this," she interjected tartly. "I'll be over in ten minutes with a bottle of tequila. We're going to get you so drunk off your ass that tomorrow you'll be too busy hating yourself to worry about how shitty you feel about Derek."

"Deal," Stiles agreed with another sigh. "I love you, Lyds, you're the best."

Lydia snorted delicately. "Duh. If only you still liked women, I could rescue you from all this."

It was a joke they'd used many times, when one or the other had suffered a romantic disappointment, and the familiarity of it was comforting now. "Wouldn't help, you still have the wrong initials." He glanced at his watch. "Hurry up, I need to not be thinking about this anymore."

"Leaving now. Hang on, Stiles. I'll be there soon to help you drink your misery away."

She ended the call and Stiles flopped his arm on his bed, the phone bouncing out of his hand and onto the floor. Lydia had the best of intentions, but he had the feeling that drinking himself stupid wasn't going to make him forget.

Derek's face popped into his mind, brilliant smile turning broken and Technicolor eyes fading to gray, taunting him, and Stiles whimpered. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to erase the memory of how much it had killed him to kiss Derek and then walk away.