A/N: WARNING! There is a character in this chapter who most people will hate. I'm sorry, but IMO he was an important addition because he leads to a couple very important moments between Stiles and Derek. The character will never appear after this chapter (although he's mentioned in chapter eight). Just bear with me and things will get better. :)
It was exactly three hours after his last mid-term, when Stiles was sprawled over his favorite couch at Bean Scene and lazily poking at Lydia while she scowled at him from behind the counter, that he met Donovan Holbrook. Donovan was relatively attractive. He had dark hair (it wasn't as dark as Derek's), and green eyes (they weren't as kaleidoscopic as Derek's), and he was tall (he wasn't as tall as Derek), and he liked him. He smiled at Lydia and put a ten dollar bill in the tip jar, which elicited a nod of approval from Lydia and a glare at the barista to move faster. The girl behind him bumped into him as he accepted his cup of coffee, and when she apologized he gave her a gracious smile and told her not to worry about it, even though a few droplets had scattered across the thigh of his slacks.
In short, he was not the douchetastic asshole otherwise known as Drew Elliott Hessington III. Stiles immediately appreciated him.
When Donovan turned around he caught Stiles watching him with interest, made his way over without either hurrying or strolling in order to feign nonchalance, and nodded at the armchair across from Stiles' couch. "Anyone sitting here?"
"There is now," Stiles responded cheekily, knowing it was a lame line, but finally having the confidence to pull it off and make it sound charming instead. After Derek, as well as a handful of dating experiences over the past couple months, Stiles had stopped thinking of himself as that guy who didn't get the other guy. He smiled up at Donovan. "I'm Stiles."
"Donovan Holbrook." The return smile had nothing to do with that familiar trip of his heart, the stuttering that said, Maybe this time is the last time. Maybe he's the one.
Stiles gestured at the chair and Donovan settled into it easily. They appraised each other silently for a few moments, and Stiles waited for the excitement to come. There was always anticipation, but there was also always excitement. The eagerness of meeting someone new and seeing where it might go. To Stiles' dismay, the excitement wasn't there. Not yet, he consoled himself. It's soon yet.
"I'd say 'Do you come here often,' but I think I've used up my quota of lame one-liners," Stiles observed dryly, and Donovan flashed him a brilliant smile (his teeth were too perfect, not like Derek's adorable bunny teeth).
"My answer would probably be boring, anyway," Donovan returned, still grinning. "I'm not a big fan of coffee, so this is literally the first time I've stepped foot in this place."
Stiles raised one eyebrow. "You don't like coffee, but you bought something at a coffee shop."
Donovan shrugged. "They sell more than coffee at coffee shops." He punctuated his statement with a very deliberate sip of his drink. "Chai tea."
"No wonder Lydia likes you," he snorted. "Chai is virtually the only thing she drinks."
"Lydia?" Donovan's eyebrows (too thin, not like Derek's monster brows) pulled together in confusion.
Stiles gestured at Lydia, who was rolling her eyes at the freshman stumbling over his order. "The scariest woman on the face of the planet, and one of my best friends."
Donovan laughed again, and Stiles felt himself warming up to him. Enough so that when Derek texted him a half hour later, signaling he was done with his finals, too, Stiles only shot him a brief response before putting his phone back in his pocket and refocusing his attention on Donovan.
To his surprise, he liked Donovan. He was nice, he was funny, he was relatively smart, he was inoffensive and genial and while Stiles hadn't felt any instantaneous sparks, he really enjoyed his company. He could be okay with Donovan as his soulmate.
So when Donovan leaned over at dinner the next night and his shirt shifted, revealing the black ink on his collar bone, Stiles didn't understand why his whole stomach twisted in panic at the sight of his initials emblazoned on his date's skin. It didn't make sense that the few bites he'd had of his dinner threatened to make a reappearance. Donovan's pleasant face blurred and his voice came to Stiles as if through a tunnel, and then everything went black.
When he reopened his eyes he was disoriented and queasy and grumpy, so when the first thing that came into his vision was Derek's worried face, he just chalked it up to his brain pretty much hating him. When Derek's mouth started moving and Stiles felt the strength of his hand on the back of his neck, realization slowly penetrated the fog and he blinked, wondering what the hell Derek was doing there when Stiles was on a date with Donovan.
As if his thoughts summoned the man in question, Donovan's face appeared over Derek's shoulder. "I called him because he was listed as your Berkeley emergency contact in your phone," Donovan explained in response to the questioning look Stiles shot him, the confusion on his face echoed in his voice. "Are you okay, Stiles?"
Stiles glanced back at Derek, whose fingers were still gently squeezing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think so," he murmured, leaning slightly into Derek as the older man helped him sit up. "What the hell happened?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Derek answered grimly. "Donovan said you passed out and slid out of your chair like you were drunk."
"Graceless as ever," Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes at himself. His stomach lurched and he groaned again, not protesting when Derek wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and purposely not acknowledging the way Donovan looked from Stiles to Derek in question. "I think I should probably go home."
"I can take you," Donovan offered, but Derek gave a sharp shake of his head.
"I've got him," he snapped, and Stiles hated the frown on Donovan's face. If this was going to work, he was going to have to lay down a list of rules with Derek. Of course Derek didn't know, he couldn't be blamed right now, but he would have to be told.
And Stiles couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less.
The ride back home was silent; Stiles lost in thought and blatantly avoiding the topic he knew he needed to address, sooner rather than later, while Derek was trying to be conscientious and giving him time to recover. Stiles blamed his rattled brain for not catching on to the fact that Derek wasn't taking him back to his dorm until they were actually pulling into the garage at Derek's apartment complex.
"This isn't home," he pointed out, feeling stupid at the obviousness of his observation.
Derek's lips twisted and pulled down in a scowl. "I don't know what the hell happened to you. You're staying with me so I can keep an eye on you until I know if you need a doctor."
"Der." Stiles sighed. "I know what happened."
"Then why the fuck didn't you tell me?" he grumbled. "I've been half-sick with worry since I got Donovan's call."
"Let's go inside first," Stiles suggested, not wanting to have this conversation in the front seat of Derek's Camaro. He didn't object when Derek came around to his side of the car and opened the door, helped ease him out of his seat, and slid an arm around his waist. He leaned in, letting his cheek press against Derek's shoulder even though it was awkward; Derek wasn't that much taller than him, so leaning down took some effort. It was worth it, though.
When they'd gotten into the apartment and Derek settled Stiles onto the couch, he disappeared into the kitchen and then reappeared with a glass of water and another frown. "What's going on?"
"I think Donovan is my soulmate," he blurted, cursing himself for his lack of tact or preparation when he saw Derek's face pale until he was virtually as white as a ghost. Or as white as Stiles imagined a ghost would look like; as he'd never seen one, he wouldn't know for sure. But Derek was a dead ringer for the white-sheet-covered version from children's cartoons. "I knew yesterday when we met that I had his initials on me. I found out tonight that he has mine on him. I think the unexpectedness of it freaked me out and that's why I reacted the way I did."
Derek swallowed and Stiles could see it hurt him. "So that's it," he said hollowly, and Stiles stared at him in confusion. "I imagine you'll be wanting to spend all your time with him now," he added morosely, and it clicked in Stiles' head.
"Derek, I swear to you that I'm not going to let my relationship with Donovan, if we end up having one, impact our friendship," Stiles promised him. "I don't know for sure. I mean, I don't have that feeling about him. But I like him, and our initials match, and we're both gay, and it just makes sense. You're still one of my best friends, though, and I'm not going to abandon you whether he and I are soulmates or not." His voice was fierce, as if he was daring Derek to try contradicting him.
Despite his conviction, the smile Derek gave him was sad, wistful, and defeated all at once. "I know you believe that."
"Derek." Stiles grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to meet. "I will never let him come between us."
The impact of what he said wasn't lost on either of them. Stiles realized he had, in essence, told Derek that he was more important than Stiles' soulmate, whoever he was. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be, and the immediate understanding that it was true terrified Stiles even more than when he realized that Donovan was very likely his soulmate.
Which was why it hurt even more when, over the next couple weeks, he watched the distance between he and Derek grow as he spent more and more time with Donovan. It wasn't what he wanted, and his heart ached whenever a text to Derek would go unanswered, or he would show up at Derek's apartment and find that he was out on yet another date.
Worse, he knew he wasn't the only one who saw how miserable he was.
"Stiles." Donovan poked at him gently and he glanced up from the page he'd been trying to read for ten minutes. "You're in another world. What gives?"
"This stuff is boring as hell and I can't concentrate," he complained, exaggeratedly slamming his book shut and leaning over to kiss Donovan, but his boyfriend held a hand up, preventing him from making contact.
He sighed. "You really think I don't know what's going on?"
Stiles closed his eyes. "Can we not? Please? I don't want to talk about this."
Donovan laughed, though it was laced with bitterness. "Like I want to talk about the fact that my boyfriend is thinking about another guy."
"That's not it," he protested automatically. "Derek is my best friend and I promised him I wouldn't let our relationship turn me into one of those guys who ditches his friends, and yet I totally did. I'm the world's biggest asshole."
"You're not an asshole," Donovan contradicted, sliding an arm (it wasn't as muscled as Derek's) around his shoulders and squeezing gently. "You're a good guy who cares about people. Why do you think I'm with you?"
Stiles mustered up a small smile. "I thought it was because we might be soulmates," he offered, and Donovan smirked.
"Stiles, I'm pretty sure that if we have to ask if we're soulmates, we're probably not," he admitted wryly, and the statement hit Stiles like a punch to his solar plexus.
What if his inability to get over Derek was sabotaging everything? What if Donovan really was his soulmate, but Stiles' soul wasn't actually in it because he was so hung up on Derek?
What if he spent the rest of his life looking for the one thing he wanted most, doomed never to find it because it could never be better than what he already had?