The first week of their pact was hard on both of them, but harder on Derek, at least as far as he could tell. He was dating more than Stiles because Stiles was limited to finding guys who bore his soulmate initials, while Derek had a much deeper pool of candidates to swim in. But they both knew that Derek's dates would never mean anything, would never be serious, while Stiles went into every one of his with the hope that this guy would be his soulmate. They never were, which Derek silently rejoiced in at the same time Stiles lamented each new "failure".

Derek had to fight himself to keep his mouth shut when Stiles bitched to him that his most recent date, Drew, had been a plastic Ken doll who was both racist and elitist. Stiles had fumed when the sweater-vest-wearing prepster condescended to their limping waitress, making snide remarks that her feet probably hurt because she was more used to making money on her back. She'd stiffened when she overheard the unnecessarily cruel and likely completely inaccurate comment, and Stiles had sought her out to hand her a fifty-dollar bill and his apologies before ditching the asshole.

"I know not every guy in the world is a nice one, but Jesus, Der. This guy was just a total douchebag from the word go and he acted so smug and high-and-mighty and like his money and his parents entitled him to treat everyone else like shit. How do people like that even still exist in this day and age?" he ranted, flinging himself back on Derek's couch and dropping his feet into Derek's lap while throwing his arm over his eyes, blocking out the bright overhead lights.

"What I can't figure out is why you went on a date with him to begin with," Derek countered, frowning. "If he's such a dick, why did you even consider him?"

Stiles shrugged awkwardly, his shoulder pressed into the deep gray microfiber. "One of the guys I went out with a couple weeks ago, Devin, belongs to the same frat as Drew. He mentioned me to Drew and showed him my picture, and he called and asked me out. I didn't spend much time talking to him, but I guess this just tells me I'm going to have to pre-screen any future potential soulmates," he grumbled.

"Have you considered your soulmate might be female?" he suggested carefully, and Stiles made a face.

"God, I hope not," he said with a shudder. "A platonic soulmate? That would be the definition of shitty."

Actually, Derek liked that idea just fine. If Stiles had a platonic soulmate, he'd be free to seek out someone else romantically.

Stiles waved the idea away, his lip still curled as if he'd taken a big whiff of sour milk. "What about you, have you had any good dates this week?" he asked, smile bright but strained at the corners.

"Nothing as dramatic as yours," he replied wryly, "but I met this girl named Brielle and we played mini golf a couple nights ago. She seemed really sweet. We're going to a play on Saturday."

"A second date?" Stiles' eyebrows catapulted into his hairline as he sat up in shock. "Oh my God, you're actually getting serious!"

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Derek pushed Stiles' feet off his thighs and reached over to smack him across the back of the head. "It's a second date, idiot. Don't start planning the wedding just yet."

Stiles shook his head, the excitement growing, though it was tinged with sadness. "Derek, you've been on, like, twenty dates in the past month. Not one of them has been a second date."

Annoyance twisted his features. "She's a nice girl, I like her, and she doesn't act like she wants anything from me. She just wants to go out and do stuff and have someone with her while she does. I don't think she's looking for anything serious, which is perfect because neither am I."

It was skirting the line of their pact and they both knew it, since they both also knew the only reason Derek wasn't looking for something serious was because he'd already found it.

Stiles cleared his throat; the attempt to distract them both was obvious, but Derek was suddenly so exhausted with fighting everything between them that he allowed Stiles to gloss over the unspoken challenge without saying anything. "I'm glad you have someone besides me to hang out with," he replied lightly. "I was beginning to wonder if I was your only friend."

"Oh, is that what you call yourself?" he snorted, trying to bring some levity to ease the awkward tension. "I thought you were mostly just a barnacle made of sarcasm that I can't seem to rid myself of."

"You're an asshole," Stiles pouted.

Derek snorted. "No shit, Stiles. You've known me for too long now to be surprised by that."

"I liked you so much better the way you were the first day we met," he groused good-naturedly. "You were sweet and charming and nice and treated me like I was this amazing creature you were blessed to be able to share breathing space with."

He burst into disbelieving laughter as he launched a pillow at Stiles' head. "You liked the idea of being hero-worshipped," he scoffed. "If I hadn't gotten comfortable with you enough to be myself, you would have become bored with me after a week."

"Probably," Stiles conceded. He wrinkled his nose. "What does it say about me that I'd rather be antagonized by you than be bored?"

The desire to answer that question truthfully nearly overwhelmed Derek, so he very carefully side-stepped the words that rushed to his tongue. "It doesn't say anything about you," he lied. "It says something about me. Basically, I'm awesome." He flashed Stiles a sly grin and watched as he attempted to swallow his groan.

"Maybe," he muttered. "A little. Not much."

Derek beamed at him and returned to the book he'd been reading when Stiles came in earlier, bitching about his horrendous date. Stiles poked at it with his foot, nearly knocking it loose from Derek's grip. "What are you reading?" Derek held the book up so Stiles could see the cover and he made a face. "Renewable and Efficient Electric Power Systems? What the actual fuck, Derek? How are you not comatose reading this shit?"

He didn't answer. The truth was, he hated his degree program. He wasn't interested in "this shit" in the least and he had no desire to take over the "family business," but with Laura staunchly refusing to fall in line and instead forging her own way into the world of fashion, Derek had never really felt like he had a choice. He wasn't the rebellious type, and his parents-okay, his mother-had been so disappointed when Laura applied to the Parsons School in New York City that he couldn't bring himself to follow her lead, though he desperately wanted to. Honestly, though, he'd never known what he might want to do if he had the opportunity, because he'd always known that opportunity would never exist.

Stiles recognized that his question was more loaded than he realized, and with a sensitivity that Derek always seemed to forget he had because he rarely showed it, he backed off. "You must be thrilled this is your last year."

It wasn't a much easier question, but Derek appreciated that Stiles was making an effort. "I have my Master's ahead of me," he reminded Stiles wryly. "I can't imagine it's going to be much better."

"Fuck," Stiles muttered, throwing his hands up in an "I give up" gesture. "I'm just going to keep my mouth shut now."

"That would be a damn miracle," Derek teased him, and Stiles wordlessly conceded the point with a sheepish grin.

Derek's phone chose that moment to chime, and Stiles pounced on it before Derek could even reach for it. "CORA!" Stiles yelled happily as he clicked to open the video call that was coming through. It took a few moments for both pictures to settle into an actual image instead of blurry, pixellated glitching, but when it did, Derek saw his baby sister's glaring face on-screen. Joy.

"What's wrong now?" he asked with a sigh, and Cora growled.

"Mom and Dad won't let me come visit you next week," she all but snarled.

"Why do you want to come visit?" Derek questioned, eyebrows drawing together in a puzzled frown. "I'm coming home for Thanksgiving." He caught sight of Stiles' face in the small picture in the lower right side of the screen, turning to stare at him in dismay. He wondered why that would upset Stiles, but pushed it away to think about later.

Cora scowled. "I need to get the hell out of this house. Mom and Dad are smothering me. They'd try smothering Nate if he let them, but he spends ninety-seven percent of his day in his room when he's not in school, and the other three percent he's only out to eat or take a shit."

"Cora." His voice was gentle, but clearly reprimanding, and she rolled her eyes.

"God, Derek, like you're the only one who's allowed to cuss," she muttered, and Stiles muffled a snort of laughter. "Talk to him, Stiles, tell him he has to let me come visit."

"Derek, you have to let her come visit," he parroted agreeably, and Derek twisted to glare at him, though it was mild. "I haven't met her yet! I want to meet all the Hale kinfolk."

Derek sighed. "You'll meet them all when I take you home for Thanksgiving." The words were out before he thought about them, and Cora squealed.

"Did you two finally get together?" she demanded. "Have you told Mom and Dad, Der? Do they know you're bringing your boyfriend home for the holidays?"

Derek and Stiles both froze, unwilling to look at each other, and they could see Cora frown as she tapped at her screen. "Damn it, this thing locked up again!" she whined, and Derek slowly thawed.

"No, it didn't," he said uncomfortably, and she glanced between the two of them, flushing when she realized her gaffe.

"Well, either way, you're welcome to stop by Casa de Hale," she said, somewhat awkwardly, and Stiles tried his best to muster up a genuine smile.

"Wouldn't miss it," he insisted, voice a little too cheerful, smile a little too bright. "But maybe you shouldn't push the idea of visiting right now. Midterms are next week and we're going to spend the next five days cramming our brains full so we can regurgitate them all over our scantrons and blue books. At that point it's only two weeks until Thanksgiving."

Cora heaved a grumpy sigh, but nodded. "Damn it, I hate when you make sense," she grumbled. "I'll see you in a few weeks, then, Der. You too, Stiles."

"Talk to you soon, Cor," Derek said mechanically, watching as she stabbed at her phone and the screen went black.

Stiles exhaled. "That wasn't awkward or anything," he muttered, and Derek stared helplessly at him before he remembered.

"Pact."

It took him a moment, but Stiles finally blinked when realization came. "So I'm going to meet the famed Hale family over Thanksgiving break, huh?" It wasn't a smooth transition, but it was something, and Derek was grateful enough to latch onto it.

He shrugged stiffly. "Your dad is still in Beacon Hills. I figured you'd go home for the holidays yourself, and if we'd both be in town, it would only make sense for you to come over and say hi to everyone. My sisters love you and are dying to meet you."

"The feeling is mutual," Stiles said jovially, but it was forced, and Derek sighed.

"Stiles."

The man in question cut him off before he could say another word. "You know what, Derek? Let's not. This week has been tough, but it's proving that we can get there. We just have to give it more time. Okay?" Derek nodded reluctantly and Stiles slapped his hands on his thighs as if to signify that was the conclusion to the conversation. "I have to get back to my dorm and break out my Policing and Society syllabus and basically memorize everything that's on it. That midterm is going to kill me."

The name sounded familiar, until Derek remembered that was the class Stiles shared with the first guy he'd mentioned going out with. David, if he recalled correctly, and damn it did he hate that he remembered all of the guys Stiles had gone out with in the last month and a half or however long it had been. To Derek, it felt like a decade had passed.

"Text me when you get home," he said automatically. It was Derek being a little overprotective, maybe, but he'd said the same thing every time Stiles left his apartment since the first time he'd shown up with tacos. He wanted to know that Stiles had gotten home okay.

Instead of teasing him about it as he always did, Stiles' expression softened into a fond smile. "Will do," he promised, and he lay a hand over Derek's shoulder and squeezed for a brief moment before heading for the door.

Fifteen minutes passed slowly before Derek's phone pinged. Home and safe, it read, as always, and Derek exhaled. Stiles was certain they'd get to a place of ease, eventually; Derek was just as certain that "easy" would always elude them.